Blood Bound
by DreamsofSpike
Summary: Early Season Four, Giles finds an ancient ritual that might solve their problem of what to do about recently chipped but notsoharmless William the Bloody...but Buffy gets more than she bargained for in the process...
1. Chapter 1

"I don't see why you think you've got to keep me tied to this bleedin' chair all the time, Slayer! It's not like I can actually bite anyone at the -- ow! Bloody hell, Slayer, easy!" The irritated blonde vampire yelped as the tiny blonde on her knees in front of him pulled the ropes that bound one of his legs to the chair he was sitting in much tighter than was necessary.

"Gee, I don't know," Buffy smiled up at him as she checked the rope, giving it a sharp experimental tug that he suspected was also completely unnecessary, just because she was the bane of his existence and felt like tormenting him. "Maybe because the last time you managed to get loose, you ran off as fast as you could and I had to track you down all over town?" she suggested, with an innocent smile on her face.

"Well, if you lot were a bit more hospitable...would feed a bloke, not keep him all trussed up all the time...maybe I'd be a bit more inclined to stay!" he shot back in a tone of offended indignation. He paused for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "No...I take that back...don't think there's enough dosh or blood in the whole soddin' universe to get me to voluntarily shack up with you and your bloody Scoobies! Ow!" he yelled as she yanked the ropes tight around his other leg.

Buffy sighed wearily before falling back on her old stand by, the words he had come to realize that she spoke when she was too busy or tired or for any other reason could not come up with a comeback.

"Shut up, Spike." She suddenly frowned, muttering as an after thought, "And there will be no shacking up -- voluntary or otherwise. You don't live here. You don't live, period. You're a prisoner, remember?"

"Hard to forget," he muttered resentfully. But then he smirked, catching the slightly defensive note in her voice and deciding to run with it. Why not? It wasn't like he had that much to entertain him these days.

"No, I s'pose 'round here you all like to keep things good and proper and all, don't you? Rather than shack up, you just skip straight to the engagement phase, yeah?"

In spite of himself, an image flew unbidden into his mind...sparkling emerald eyes shining up at him adoringly -- soft, full lips hungrily kissing his -- a lap full of wriggling, bouncing, and enticingly aroused Slayer...

Bloody hell! His eyes widened as he glanced down at the lap in question and then back at the Slayer, hoping against hope she would not notice the problem his memories had just created for him.

And of all times, with him tied to this soddin' chair, with not even the slightest chance of escape! He tried to think of a good excuse to get the Slayer to untie him -- if only for a few minutes -- but came up completely blank. What could he say, really?

Eh, love, mind letting me up for a bit so I can have a quick wank?

Slayer, I've just been sitting here fantasizing about you and I've got a bit of a problem, care to help me out with it?

Not bloody likely. Either way he'd end up dust.

Infuriating bint! he thought resentfully. This is her fault -- all of it. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have come back here, I wouldn't have this bleedin' chip in my head, and I wouldn't have had a soddin' love spell placed on me to where now I can't stop bloody well thinking about her every soddin' minute -- even now that the spell's broken! Gonna drain the annoying little chit dry the moment I get this thing out of my head!

Feeling a bit better after his internal but satisfying rant, and the decision he had re-made a hundred times since Willow's my-will-be-done spell had been ended, he smirked at the tense, frowning Slayer, as she tugged on the last rope to be sure it was tight enough, and then stood up in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest.

Oh, well. As long as he was in this predicament – might as well have a bit of fun with it.

"Never figured you for the type to get off on bondage, love," he sneered, curling his tongue behind his teeth in a gesture that was both mocking and suggestive and just so typically -- well, Spike.

It infuriated her almost to the point of losing control of her temper.

And other things.

Suddenly, she pulled her attention from that fascinating little motion of his tongue – bringing to mind unbidden memories of other rather intriguing things that she had found out he could do with it – when she realized just exactly what he had said.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shocked indignation – and her heart raced at the images that sprang to her mind at his words. She swallowed hard, trying for the expression of anger that she knew she should be giving him, rather than the slack-jawed, shocked look she feared was on her face.

"I – do…not," she retorted defensively, cringing at the utter pathetic lack of timing, creativity – and even conviction – behind her response.

Stupid vampire, she thought resentfully. Why was it that Spike, of all people, had the power to get her so confused and off guard, to make her feel so vulnerable and exposed. She was the Slayer; she didn't do "vulnerable and exposed".

Spike seemed to think otherwise. His knowing smirk made her flush with embarrassment even before he said a word – and his words were worse. "You forgot, love. Vampire, here. There's no hiding things like that from us, no matter how bad you might want to. Not with our superior senses, pet." He sniffed the air pointedly before giving her a lewd smile. "What is that heavenly fragrance you're wearing, Slayer? Let me guess…essence of – 'I-deperately-need-a-shag'?"

Buffy felt as if her face was on fire – among other things. To think that he could so easily tell the unwilling reaction her body had had to him was humiliating to her.

And infuriating.

Her eyes smoldered with fury as she took a menacing step toward the bound vampire, who to her irritation did not even appear the least bit unnerved by her sudden approach. He just smiled boldly up at her as she moved closer to him until she was right in his face.

"You're disgusting," she informed him in a low, hateful voice.

"And you want me," he retorted with a smug smile, his triumphant eyes telling her that he knew he was right, and was taking extreme pleasure in the power he had over her.

No, Buffy, she reminded herself. You have the power here! You're the Slayer, and he's a harmless, tied up prisoner of a vampire who can't even bite! Now remind both of you of that before it's too late!

"I want to stake you," she corrected him, a cool smiling coming over her lips as she added, "I haven't, since you're basically neutered, and it wouldn't be a very satisfying slay." She paused, her smile taking on a menacing edge, "But it's sounding more satisfying by the moment."

Spike showed no fear at her words; this Slayer talked about staking him, but she never had quite managed it – even before his chip – and he was beginning to think that she was all talk, at least when it came to him.

And why would that be? he wondered. He knew that she was attracted to him. If he admitted it, he was attracted to her too, as Red's little spell had forced them to find out, quite against their will. But that did not mean that she actually cared at all, even enough to keep her from staking him, no matter how hard he tried to drive her bloody insane.

If I was her, he thought with a sense of satisfaction. I'd have staked me by now.

The "neutered" comment was irritating, however, and his eyes narrowed in anger and triumph. "You're just afraid to untie me – afraid I'll show you just how neutered I'm not!"

"Sounds good to me!" she snapped! "I'd love an excuse to stake you!"

He clucked his tongue at her a few times, shaking his head in a mockingly reproving way. "Such hostility, love," he remarked with mock dismay. "You know, a good shag would help you get that bloody stick out of your arse. What say you let me stake you instead, yeah?"

The Scoobies gathered in the kitchen suddenly heard the very distinctive sound of flesh connecting with flesh, more specifically the Slayer's fist connecting with Spike's face, followed by an even more distinctive shout of fury and pain.

"Bloody hell!"

Moments later Buffy sauntered through the door into the kitchen, closing it behind her with a satisfied smile on her face.

Xander smirked toward the door and the annoying blonde vampire beyond it. "I never get tired of hearing that," he remarked.

"I never get tired of doing it," Buffy smiled as she sat down at the kitchen table with the rest of them, trying to put the disconcerting words of the vampire in the living room – and the even more disconcerting feelings they had awakened in her – out of her head. "I swear, he drives me absolutely insane!"

Giles glanced up from the book open in front of him on the table to comment, "I dare say, he has the same effect on me."

Buffy tried to keep a horrified look off her face that would surely reveal to her friends the nature of the "effect" Spike actually had on her, as Giles went on.

"I would like to have my full privacy back again. The unexpected houseguest is getting a bit bothersome."

"Getting bothersome?" Xander muttered. "He's never been anything but a pain in the butt! I still don't see why you just don't stake him, Buff."

Buffy sighed. Why don't I? she asked herself for the thousandth time. Aloud, she stated the chosen answer that was always her response to these words of Xander, which she heard at least several times a day. "He's got the chip. He's helpless. It would just be – wrong, somehow."

"Killing a harmless creature, well…yes, it does seem a bit out of sync with your calling," Giles agreed, with a sigh of regret, glancing toward the now-quiet living room. "But I can't see as how babysitting an impotent vampire falls under my calling as a Watcher, either."

The look he gave her was quickly joined by matching looks from the others, and Buffy suddenly felt defensive. "What?" she demanded.

"You are the Slayer," Willow pointed out hesitantly, a bit apologetically. "If anybody has to look after Spike, it should be you."

"He's harmless!" Buffy protested. "Really, I can't see why we can't just let him go, in all honesty. It's not like he could actually hurt anybody!"

"You know, you guys keep saying that," Anya interrupted suddenly. "And I really think you're making a mistake." When all she received was blank, puzzled looks, she went on, "Well, sure, he can't hurt any living thing…at the moment. But there are ways of getting around that. You really wanna hurt someone bad enough – you're gonna find a way. Even if you have to get someone else to do it for you."

At the wide-eyed looks her comment earned her, she added, "What? I was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years. What do you think kept me busy, if not the wishes of people who didn't have the power to carry out their own revenge?" She paused. "Just the fact that he wants to hurt us, means that somehow, someway – he can."

"Like," Willow nodded slowly, understanding where she was going with that. "if he managed to get the chip out, or it stopped working…"

"Or he could just get someone else to do it for him," Xander pointed out. "It's really not that difficult."

"Okay," Buffy admitted, a slight pout coming to her lips as she realized that they were right. "We can't let him go. But – I can't see staking him. Not when he can't even fight back. It's kind of – like – cheating," she tried to put her thoughts into words, not quite translating them correctly – as usual.

"Well," Giles muttered, his eyes back on his book. "We need to find some solution, because he bloody well can't stay here forever!"

Buffy was a bit taken aback by his words. She had heard Giles swear in British before, but he usually didn't, not unless he was really irritated. She guessed that his patience with the unwelcome guest in the living room was thinner already than she had realized.

Giles' attention remained on his book, but when the others looked expectantly to her again, she found herself once again on the defensive. "Okay, so we need to find a different arrangement. But I can't very well keep him in my dorm room, can I?"

"Nope," Willow replied decisively, her eyes wide at the memory that sprang to her mind of Spike in her dorm room a few weeks before. "Can't do that."

"Don't look at Xander," Anya announced, before anyone did. "I'm not having Spike watching and listening while Xander gives me orgasms. He's much too vocal, he'd probably spoil the mood just for the fun of it."

Xander gave her an incredulous look of horror. "That's your only objection to Deadboy Junior watching us have sex?"

Anya gave him a blank look and a shrug. "What other objection would I have?" she asked him. "Sex is a natural part of life. It is performed for both procreation and pleasure, and everybody does it." She recited the words as if from a textbook, then added with a shrug, "Unless you're old, like Giles. Or too ugly to find someone willing to join with you."

"Bloody hell." Giles' muttered words drew Buffy's attention with a slight wince. He had not been terribly patient lately, and Anya's words might have pushed his temper over the edge. He was really making with the British cursing today.

Of course, that might have had something to do with the little glass beside him that he kept refilling with the amber-colored beverage in the refrigerator.

She kept meaning to talk to him about that.

But when Giles looked up, his eyes were wide and astonished, and Buffy recognized the expression on his face with relief. It was not a look of anger, but rather a look that said he had just found something incredible in one of his dusty old books.

Of course, "incredible" by his definition was not necessarily the same as "incredible" by hers.

"What?" she asked him, interested in spite of herself.

A slow, thoughtful smile came over Giles' face as he replied quietly, "I think I may have just discovered the solution to our problem. What to do about Spike."


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy looked up at her Watcher with hopeful interest, wondering if he had indeed found a solution to the Spike-problem. She desperately hoped so; she was not sure she could take much more of the constant presence of the blonde vampire in her life without breaking her resolve not to stake him as long as he was helpless.

Or breaking another resolve.

Stupid vampire, she thought again resentfully. He's so infuriating. And sexy. No! Just infuriating!

"You know, I really hope this solution involves Spike-dustiness," Xander remarked, as the entire room turned their attention to Giles, waiting to see what he had to say.

"It does not," Giles informed him patiently, "And I'm not quite certain yet," Giles cautioned them all, his attention focusing on Buffy. "But it could work. I've been doing a bit of research into the behavioral patterns of vampires -- social behaviors, that sort of thing..."

Anya began to speak slowly, "By social behaviors..."

"Please don't finish that sentence," Xander cut her off quickly, with a wide, overly affectionate smile to soften the words.

"As I was saying," Giles went on, giving them a dark, glowering look for a moment, "I've discovered some interesting things that might be of use to us in this -- intolerable situation." His tone told them all just how intolerable he found it.

"It seems that according to most recorded research, vampires in group settings are by nature, pack animals," Giles went on. "The first vampires who walked the earth existed, fed, traveled, in groups, much like some animals that we're familiar with today."

"Like wolves," Willow noted with a nod, her best teacher's-pet face in place.

"Or pirahnna," Anya agreed matter-of-factly.

Giles opened his mouth to go on, but suddenly stopped, looking at her aghast.

When Anya realized that everyone was staring at her, she said defensively, "What? It's a very valid comparison! What with the sharp little fangs and bloodthirstiness…"

"Oooh!" Willow put in suddenly with a nod of agreement, "And they don't breathe!"

"Could we please try to stay on the topic?" Giles interrupted them in a tone of intense exasperation, rolling his eyes and reaching for his glass.

"Yes, please," Buffy agreed with him, reaching over to intercept the glass before it reached his lips and placing it on the other side of her, out of reach. When he frowned at her and tried anyway, she just gave him her best Slayer glare.

He backed down. "Yes," he continued distractedly, focusing back on the matter at hand. "Well, as I was saying, these vampire packs would stick together…feed together, defend and protect each other, work together as a unit to survive."

Buffy frowned; the thought was strange to her. But just as she was wondering why she had never seen that sort of behavior from vampires before, she thought of Drusilla, and how faithfully Spike had tended her, even when she had been utterly insane and running around behind his back like a little ho-bag.

Angel had told her very little about his life before his soul, and his vampire family – but from what he had told her, it seemed that they had been a very tight-knit group at one time. And in the high school on Parent/Teacher Night, she remembered Spike mentioning how Angel had been a mentor to him.

She had never thought that vampires were capable of that sort of bonding, but perhaps that was the sort of behavior that Giles was talking about, she thought.

Giles was still talking, she reminded herself, trying to focus. "These packs operate in very specific ways. There is a single 'pack leader' to whom the others all turn for – direction. Leadership. They submit to the decisions of the leader. What he says goes."

"Or she," Willow pointed out, glancing at Buffy with a smile.

An odd little smile came over Giles' face at her words. She did not realize it, but Willow had accidentally hit on the very direction of what he was saying. "Indeed. As may very well be appropriate in this situation." Before anyone could ask him about the cryptic statement, he went on.

"On occasion, one of the group, or even one outside the group, vying for mastery of the pack, might challenge the pack leader. According to this text, they would then," he placed a hand on the thick old book as he glanced down at it before looking up at Buffy again, quoting exactly from the text, " 'meet in a battle of wills, climaxing in an act of dominance by the winning party'."

"If the challenger won," he went on, closing the book, "he would assume leadership of the pack, and the previous pack leader would submit to his leadership. If he lost, on the other hand, he would become one of the pack, and submit to the pack leader. From that point on, he would be under their control."

Buffy felt an uneasy feeling, as she began to put together what Giles was getting at. "Okay," she said slowly. "So…you're saying that what Spike needs is…"

"A pack leader," he finished the statement for her, meeting her eyes appraisingly.

"Gee," she said, her tone flippant. "Wonder where we're gonna find one of those?"

"Buffy," Giles said in a voice of quiet rebuke. "I believe you understand what I'm getting at."

"Good for Buffy," Xander said. "Now what about the rest of us who are completely and totally in the dark still?"

"So you're saying," Willow began slowly, figuring it out as she went along. "that if Buffy can beat Spike in a fight – he'll submit to her and he won't be a problem? Like – he would just – not want to kill her anymore?"

"Oh, I quite believe he would still want to," Giles corrected, a look of slight amusement in his eyes. "But he would not be able to. His very nature would prevent it, once he had been made to recognize her authority."

"Okay, the only problem with that…" Buffy began, pausing with a frown before she amended, "One of many problems with that – is that I've already kicked Spike's butt across Sunnydale and back on more than one occasion. And he's still the same annoying, smart-mouth pain in my butt that he's always been. And he would still try to kill me the first chance he gets."

Giles shook his head. "No, Buffy. It's not just a matter of winning the fight. Every time you've fought him before, your goal has been his death – not his submission to you. As I understand this text, you must dominate him in the fight, and make him actually verbally accept your authority."

"Okay, big problem number two…let's face it. That's so not gonna happen," Buffy stated matter-of-factly. "He would disappear in a cloud of dust still kicking and screaming and calling me nasty names in British before he would ever submit to me."

"Okay, question here," Xander interrupted, holding up a hand for Giles' attention. "What about the chip? I mean – don't get me wrong. I'm all for further humiliation of the bleached menace in there. But – isn't he about as dominated as he can get? He can't fight her, anyway. So…how's she going to do the whole fighty thing with him?"

Giles frowned thoughtfully. "That, actually, is the biggest flaw in the theory."

"No, that is not the biggest flaw in the theory," Buffy corrected, shaking her head emphatically. "The biggest flaw in the theory is the idea that I should perform some ancient vampire ritual, just so I can have a neutered vampire follow me around for the rest of my life because he thinks I'm his boss or something."

"But that is entirely the point, Buffy," Giles explained. "He won't have to follow you around. He won't have to be supervised at all. You'll merely have to give the order to leave us alone – not to attempt to harm us or anyone else – and he'll be bound by his very nature to obey it."

Xander's eyes lit up. "Hey! Could you like – order him to walk out in the sunlight or something?" He was surprised by the shocked, indignant looks cast his way by everyone else in the room. "What?" he said defensively. "It was just a joke!"

"The entire point of this effort is to avoid having to destroy him, seeing as he is fairly harmless," Giles reminded him. Then he frowned thoughtfully, "But to answer your question…I'm honestly not sure. According to the text, it does seem as if he would still have a choice in the matter, at least to some degree. It's really – really not clear."

"What a surprise," Buffy muttered, her mind racing with what Giles was suggesting. It seemed simple enough. Best Spike in a fight, force him to say uncle and admit that she really was bigger and badder than he was, and then order him to reform -- and to get out of their lives for good measure, if she chose to. She could be rid of his confusing presence without the guilt that would come with staking him.

But something deep inside her, some niggling feeling warned her that there simply had to be more to it than that. Somehow, she just knew.

And did she really want him out of her life?

"And as to the problem of the chip," Giles went on, and she forced herself to pay attention. "Well – that is a problem. The thing is, as long as he is virtually forced to submit anyway, by virtue of not being capable of fighting you – anything you would do to him would be – well, futile. In order for the act of dominance you perform to have any effect – he must actually have the ability to resist it."

"Oh, well," Buffy said lightly with a shrug. "There goes that theory. Anything else?"

"I think…" Willow began hesitantly. "I think I know a spell…" Buffy gave her a vicious glare, and the little redhead visibly wilted. "Well, I do," she said defensively with an apologetic look. She looked back to Giles, who was watching her hopefully. "It would just kind of – scramble the signal on the chip. Just for a little while. So that it wouldn't go off if he tried to hurt you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Xander broke in, a note of anger beginning in his voice. "I'm not liking the way this conversation is going. We're talking about disabling Spike's chip? Every time he's been around Buffy before he got the chip, he's tried to kill her!"

"In this case," Giles said softly. "I dare say that's rather the point."

Xander shook his head emphatically, "No. That's too dangerous, Buffy! You're talking about deliberately disabling the only thing between Captain Peroxide and a major killing spree!"

"I think you're forgetting the other thing between him and mass murder," Buffy reminded him, a note of irritation in her voice. When he just gave her a blank look, she sighed and rolled her eyes as she clarified, "Me! Slayer, remember?"

"So," Willow began to recap slowly. "The basic idea is, we do the spell to disable the chip, you fight Spike and do the whole dominance thing, and once he submits to you, he's under your control. So we don't have to worry about watching over him every single second to be sure he doesn't hire a hit vamp to kill you or anything like that."

"We think," Buffy clarified flatly. "We're still not totally sure that this whole thing is even gonna work like we think it is. I mean," she looked at Giles, "you said he may not have to obey what I tell him, even then. So – it might be an awful lot of work and danger – for nothing."

"At the very least," Giles argued quietly. "resistance to your leadership and trying to do anything to hurt you or those in the 'pack' would be very difficult for him. It would be like – trying not to feed. He could do it – but it would only be to his detriment, and completely against his nature."

Buffy's eyes widened as she considered that. Okay…so maybe it was more of a sure thing than she had thought.

She glanced around the room, taking in the expressions on the faces of the others. Xander was obviously very unhappy with the idea, and was shaking his head slightly, just in case the others were not yet aware of his disapproval. Willow had a thoughtful look on her face, obviously already thinking about what she would need to perform the spell, and getting excited about the idea of using her newly developing powers.

Giles clearly wanted her to do it. The hopeful, expectant look on his face told her that much. He was certain that he had found a solution to the problem, and wanted her to accept it and carry it out.

Anya – Buffy frowned. As she looked at the pale, wide-eyed ex-vengeance demon, she realized suddenly that Anya had not said a word since Giles had brought up his idea. When Buffy looked at her, she gave her an exaggerated and very obvious shake of her head, pulling a finger across her throat in a gesture that said clearly what she thought of the idea.

She was certainly very emphatic about it. And she was a centuries-old ex-demon who probably knew quite a bit about ancient rituals and such.

"What do you think, Anya?" Buffy asked suddenly, surprising all of the others. Buffy frowned. Did they all really think so little of the girl that they should be so surprised? Really, Anya probably knew a lot about the sort of stuff they dealt with on a daily basis. She made a quick decision to show a bit more respect to the girl, as she waited for her response.

"Um – I think – I – think I need to talk to you privately for a moment, Buffy," Anya finally said, a huge, fake smile on her face. "Okay?" she practically chirped, rising from the table and taking Buffy's arm, pulling her toward the door.

"Wait a second," Xander protested, not liking the idea of not being in the loop.

"Yes, Anya," Giles agreed with the boy for once. "I believe we could all hear what it is you have to say."

"I believe you don't want to," Anya shot back immediately before looking back at the Slayer. "Buffy?" she said expectantly, releasing her arm, but walking toward the door – expecting her to follow.

Buffy glanced back at her friends for a moment, a bit uncomfortably, before following Anya out of the kitchen and into the living room. Casting a glance at the bound vampire watching them, Anya nodded toward the front door, suggesting that they go outside to talk.

"Done talking about me, are you?" he smirked, and Buffy gave him a startled look, wondering if he had somehow overheard their conversation.

After looking at him for a moment, she decided that it had probably just been an assumption on his part, due to the fact that they had pointedly had the conversation outside the range of his hearing. She returned his smirk, putting a bit of sly menace into her smile just for the fun of it.

"Hardly," she replied, following Anya out onto the porch.

"Hey!" she heard him yell indignantly behind her. "You mean you were bloody talking about me? Hey, now, get back here! That's not right!"

Ignoring his protests, Buffy closed the front door firmly and turned her attention to the anxious girl in front of her. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Buffy," Anya shook her head slowly. "I'm familiar with this ritual – to a point."

Buffy raised her eyebrows questioningly.

Anya shrugged. "In a thousand years, yeah, I've dated a couple of vampires. You pick things up." She shook her head in dismissal and went on, "Anyway, Giles is way off about the ritual."

"About what part?"

Anya took a deep breath, hesitant to respond, and looked away for a moment. "Buffy," she said finally. "what he thinks you have to do – well – the ritual doesn't just require – fighting. Let's just say that the, um – the act of dominance you have to perform?"

Buffy nodded slowly, frowning, still not quite following her.

"It's not – just -- physical dominance."

Buffy was very confused by this point, shaking her head slightly. "Then – what kind of dominance is it?" she asked, a bit impatiently. She was completely unprepared for the answer, as Anya took a deep breath and blurted out her response.

"Sexual dominance."


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy just stared at Anya for several extremely long, excruciating moments, a blank look of utter disbelief on her face as her mind frantically tried to reject what she had just heard – followed by an expression of panic as, against her will, the words sank in anyway.

"What?" she demanded furiously, her voice hushed, although no one could possibly overhear them out here on the porch. Buffy suddenly felt very exposed and self-conscious.

Anya nodded with a little understanding grimace. "Sexual domination, Buffy. You have to have sex with Spike, and you have to…"

"Stop!" Buffy insisted, her hands rising to her temples and sliding back through her hair in a gesture of helpless anxiety and denial. "No, I do not want to hear this!" She stood there for a moment, before she suddenly looked at Anya again, curious in spite of her horror. "I have to what, exactly?"

Anya took a deep breath. "Okay – Giles didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Here's the way that the ritual really works. He challenges you – but since he's not likely to do that in this case, you can challenge him. They way it works, as 'pack leader'," Anya put finger quotes around the words. "if you think he's causing trouble for your pack, stepping on your turf, so to speak…"

"Which he so is," Buffy muttered resentfully.

Anya nodded as she went on, "Then you can challenge him. Like basically saying, 'I'm the boss of you, and I say you're gonna behave yourself. What are you gonna do about it?'"

"Gee, that will go over well," Buffy muttered.

"No, it won't," Anya argued, apparently oblivious to her sarcasm. "Which is completely the point. Once you've made the challenge, he has to fight you for control of – well – him. That's the 'battle of wills'. The fight. And once you overpower him, you – well – you initiate sexual intercourse."

Buffy cringed at the blunt way Anya stated it, her sexually naïve mind balking at her matter-of-fact openness. Her body, however, was having a very different reaction to the mental images conjured up by Anya's words.

"That's the act of dominance," Anya explained. "It's like saying, 'I won, so now you're gonna do what I say whether you like it or not. I'm in charge, and you're gonna fall in line and submit. And the first thing you're gonna submit to is my screwing your brains out.'"

"Oh my God!" Buffy whimpered, putting her hand over her eyes. "I'm so not hearing this!" The hand over her eyes did nothing to block the mental pictures of Spike – and her – his submitting to her while she…

No! Bad Buffy! she sharply reprimanded herself. Stop thinking nasty thoughts about the vampire sexual ritual that you are so not going to be doing!

"You've beat him every other time you've fought, right? So this shouldn't be too hard to win…"

"Whoa," Buffy said with a nervous little laugh that sounded just a little panicked. "I am not going to do this, Anya!"

The ex-demon looked down for a moment before looking the Slayer in the eye and saying, "Then you'd better stake him, Buffy."

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, to object – but all that came out was a weary sigh. "Anya…"

"Seriously, Buffy. He's just going to keep trying to find a way around the chip to kill you, and a way to get the chip out, period, unless you do something to stop him," Anya went on. She paused, then added emphatically, "And Giles is sick of him being here, and he will not rob Xander and I of our special orgasm time! You have to do something, Buffy!"

Buffy winced at more unwelcome mental images, but was quiet as she thought about what Anya had said. "There's no guarantee that this will even work," she argued, but her tone was not as certain as it had been before.

"Yes there is," Anya told her in a knowing voice. "Another thing that Giles was just a little bit off on about the ritual. There's an awful lot of power behind it, Buffy. Once you've made him accept your authority through the act of domination, resisting you wouldn't be like Giles said, like his trying to feed."

She paused, her tone one of quiet intensity as she looked Buffy in the eye and said, "It'd be more like you trying not to breathe. Buffy, he could do it – but not for long, and it would be almost impossible. Like trying to fight an instinct that you just can't help. He might," she paused, correcting herself, "no, he will still disagree with you on most things, and argue back and all – but if you give him a direct order – he'll be pretty much bound to obey it, eventually – even if he fights it."

Buffy's eyes widened at the thought of what Anya was suggesting – absolute power. The thought was a very conflicting one to her, as she considered its staggering implications. There was a tiny part of her that thought the whole idea sounded just – wrong. And not just in the category of wrong that sex-with-Spike always fell into.

She did not think that she should, or even wanted to, wield that much power over anyone – least of all a master vampire who despised her – who took every opportunity to insult her at every turn – who would absolutely hate the idea of being forced to obey her…

As Buffy's thoughts went around that particular bend, a slow smile spread across her face, as she thought of all the hateful, insulting comments that he was always so inclined to throw her way – the way they always managed to strike their target dead on, infuriating her, but leaving her no good response.

To have the power to say, "Shut up, Spike," – and have him actually…shut…up!

Her smile became a calculating smirk as she thought of finally being able to make the annoying, infuriating, cocky vampire pay for all the trouble he had given her over the past few years. She could already think of a few rather humiliating commands that she would just love to give him.

Yes, she realized as she thought it over. The results of the ritual were definitely very desirable.

It was the ritual itself that was the problem.

She looked up at Anya, a frightened expression in her wide green eyes. "But – Anya – I don't know that much about – well, I mean – I'm not that experienced – how in the world am I ever gonna…." Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, simply at a loss.

It was not the thought of the actual act of sex that bothered her so much. She had had sex before. But neither of her experiences had been exactly confidence-inspiring.

She had lost her virginity to Angel, and it had lasted all of ten minutes, during which she had not done much besides just lie there and let him take the lead. It seemed to be what he wanted, and while it had not been all that pleasurable for her, besides the feeling of just being close to him, at that time, she had wanted noting more than to make him happy, and had contented herself with the thought that she had done so.

"Making him happy" had turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life, when he had followed up what she thought was a beautiful, once in a lifetime experience with cruel words telling her how terrible she had been as a lover – not to mention the whole trying to kill her and all those dear to her thing.

Then there had been Parker. She could clearly see now that Parker had been able to easily take advantage of her on the rebound from Angel's abandonment of her that summer. She had been lonely and hurting, and had wanted more than anything, just for someone to care.

Parker had not turned out to be that someone. He had used her and then ignored her – once again making her doubt her own worth, not to mention her abilities as a lover. No, neither of her first two experiences with sex had led her to believe that she was in any way capable of being "dominant", sexually speaking.

And then – there was the vampire in question.

Spike had attacked her mere moments after Parker had smashed her self-esteem to bits, mocking her and taunting her, insinuating that she was a slut, reminding her of her failures with Angel, and how Angel had told him that she was "not worth a second go".

Her eyes narrowed in hurt and anger at the memory. She did not know why his cruel words had surprised her. After all, he was her mortal enemy, and had been trying to kill her at the time. Of course, he would do anything in his power to throw her off her game. But somehow – after everything that had happened between them to that point – she had expected more of him than that.

She knew it was foolish – knew that she shouldn't have – but she had.

"Buffy," Anya said with a warm, sympathetic smile, her tone one of motherly patience – though if Buffy's own mother could have heard the matter they were discussing, Buffy would have been utterly mortified – "it's not that big a deal. Me and Xander play bondage games all the time. I could give you some pointers."

When Buffy stared at her, aghast, she shrugged. "Well, if you have to perform an ancient vampire ritual including violence and sex with your mortal enemy – might as well have some fun doing it!"

Anya had such a startling way of putting things – but she did have a point.

The more Buffy thought about it, the more appealing the whole thing began to sound to her. It couldn't be that difficult, especially if she had already beaten the crap out of him before they ever got that far – and she had no doubt that she could easily kick Spike's scrawny white bum halfway to China.

As for the rest – the idea of his reaction alone, when he realized what was about to happen, made it almost seem worth the uncertainty and self-doubt she was going through now.

"I don't know, Anya," Buffy still hesitated. "Giles will freak out when he hears…"

"He doesn't have to hear," Anya interrupted. "Why do you think we're out here?" She paused, giving Buffy a moment to take that in, before going on, "I really think this ritual is your best bet at keeping Spike from being a danger without having to stake him.  
But there's no way that Giles is gonna let you do it. Not to mention Xander for that matter."

Her voice took on a note of hurt insecurity as she added, "I think he'd let me sleep with Spike before he'd let you."

"Neither one of them is going to 'let' me do anything!" Buffy declared, too focused on her own dilemma to really notice what Anya had said or how she had said it. "It's my decision to make, not theirs. We could just set it up so it's completely private. Just me and Spike alone somewhere – and they'd never have to know what happened. I mean, if this works, me and you and Spike would be the only ones who'd know – and I could just make him keep his mouth shut."

She paused, thoughtful for a moment. "That alone is incentive enough to do this thing."

Anya nodded, refocusing on Buffy's situation, "That's what I was thinking," she nodded. "The boys would never have to know at all. We'll spare them the conniption fit."

Buffy was quiet, thinking again. "It all sounds like it would work – but Anya…" Her eyes were more serious – troubled – as she looked anxiously at the girl. "To sleep with him – when I don't love him – I don't even like him – it just feels – wrong. Not to mention the very important factor that this is going to be against his will, Anya – which just adds a whole new level of 'ick' to the whole thing."

"The thing you've gotta remember, Buffy," Anya objected, "is that this is an ancient and revered ritual among vampires. It's not even about the sex – it's about power."

"You know what else they say that about, Anya?" Buffy asked her darkly, this new line of thought bringing with it a whole new set of uncomfortable worries.

"It's not like that. If he fights you in a challenge for mastery," she paused, her voice quiet and loaded with meaning. "he knows what to expect if he loses. It's just a part of the ritual, and he'll submit to it – because that's the way the ritual is done." She paused, hesitating over her next words. "And Buffy," she finally went on, cautiously, "If you fight him – and you lose – you should know what to expect, too."

Buffy's eyes widened as she realized exactly what Anya was saying. This was some serious business she was getting into, she realized. If she did lose to Spike – she would have to let him…

I just won't lose, she told herself firmly. No matter what, I can't let him win this one. And if I don't, she added to herself with a smirk, screw the time-honored, ancient vampire ritual – I'm not letting him touch me!

If she was going to have sex with Spike – it was going to be on her terms.

"So you see," Anya went on. "It's not really forced – because you both know what you're getting into from the start."

Buffy nodded slowly, beginning to understand – and inching ever closer to the decision of actually going through with it.

"And besides," Anya went on, her voice suddenly lighter, a conspiratorial and appreciative smile on her face, "Spike is really hot!"

"Spike? Ew!" Buffy answered almost automatically – and much too emphatically. Anyone with more experience than Anya in reading human behavior would have immediately known that she was over-covering for her true feelings about the blonde vampire.

The truth was – he was really hot.

She kept insisting that she hated Spike – that he disgusted her – but still, she could not stop thinking about those few and fleeting embraces, kisses they had shared while under the influence – but not the complete control – of Willow's spell. She would not have admitted it to anyone, but she did find him attractive, and had for a long time – long before Willow's spell, truth be told.

Maybe that was why his post-Parker taunting had hurt her as badly as it had.

She looked up at Anya suddenly, decisively. "Okay," she agreed, surprising the ex-vengeance demon with her unexpected certainty. "I'll do it."

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in a grim resolve as they headed back into the house.

Not worth a second go, huh? she thought.

She would make his first "go" with her one to remember!


	4. Chapter 4

As Buffy and Anya walked back into the living room, headed toward the kitchen, the anxious blonde vampire tied to the chair tried to get their attention.

"Hey! If you're gonna be bloody well talking about me, you ought to at least have the decency to stand where I can hear you! For all I know, you could have been out there plotting my bloody death, and I'd never know it!" he pointed out in a heated tone of indignation. The Slayer's parting words as she had walked outside had worried him more than he wanted to let on.

But he had never been any good at hiding his true feelings about anything.

Buffy just smirked at him as they reached the kitchen door. "For all you know, we were," she agreed in a cool voice of amusement that made him suddenly apprehensive. "Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

"Now wait just one soddin' minute!" he demanded, his unease translating into anger at its source – the Slayer. "I haven't done a bloody thing to you since I came to you of my own volition, in a gesture of good faith, and all you've done is treat me like a soddin' prisoner, which I've done nothing to deserve, so if you're going to threaten my unlife, the least you can do is do it to my face!"

"The only reason you haven't done anything to us," Buffy reminded him as her hand came to rest on the kitchen door, "is because you can't. You've been – neutered." She smiled as she said the word that she had chosen only because she knew it would get to him.

"Not as much as you'd like to think," he countered with a smirk, quite successfully covering just how much the use of the word did bother him. "But apparently you should be! Got more bloody energy than you know what to do with, don't you, Slayer? I know your type." His tone was smug, knowing, and he watched for her reaction, knowing that she knew he meant something else entirely by "energy".

Buffy felt her face flame with embarrassment that he had commented on her attraction to him, even in such a veiled fashion, in front of Anya. She was furious with herself more than anything, that her own arousal that had been building during the – intriguing – conversation with Anya had given her away.

Still, she was determined to ignore him for now, just to get into the kitchen and away from his too-perceptive senses – not to mention his words.

But then – he spoke again, his voice low and mocking. "Like a puppy," he mused with a smirk. "Enthusiastic – but a bit clumsy." As determined as she was to ignore him, he was to not let her.

It worked.

Buffy froze in the doorway, her back still turned to him, and he felt a sense of satisfaction that he had managed to get to her, finally. Then, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed and with a dangerous light in them – and satisfaction was suddenly replaced with apprehension.

As she slowly approached him, a small, predatory smile on her face, he tensed in instinctive preparation to react, though he knew that there was really nothing he could do. The Slayer's eyes flashed fury as she leaned down in front of him, her face inches from his, meeting his eyes intently.

"First of all," she said in a tight, angry voice that told him she was trying very hard to restrain her anger. "You have done everything in your power to deserve the way we've treated you, and worse. You've tried to kill me countless times, kidnapped my friends, and generally just annoyed the hell out of me. And as for your little 'gesture of good faith'?" she sneered with a derisive little laugh, "it was more like a gesture of 'I'm so pathetic that the only one I can turn to for help is my worst enemy'. And, by the way, you only found out that you needed that help while trying -- again -- to kill my best friend. And, considering that you're tied to a chair in my Watcher's living room, and couldn't actually hurt me, even if you weren't – I think I'll threaten you to your face, or behind your back or anyway I damn well please!"

His patented smirk remained in place throughout her little speech, which left him mostly unconcerned. When it came to him, for some reason, the Slayer was really mostly bark, very little bite – unless he somehow managed to get her really pissed off.

Apparently – she was really pissed off.

It caught him by surprise when a small, strong hand shot out to grab a handful of his hair, pulling his head back in a gesture that was more threatening than painful. She was using very little of her actual strength; they both knew that she was strong enough to snap his neck with one quick movement if she wanted to.

And they both knew that she wouldn't.

His smug smile faltered for just a moment as she gave his head a quick, sharp little tug backward, but was immediately back in place, mocking her even through the discomfort, unwilling to show her that her actions had any impact on him at all.

"And by the way," she added, lowering her voice slightly and giving him a calculating smile of triumph that made him feel terribly uneasy, in spite of himself, "you might wanna be careful what you say about me, Spike. I just might have to prove you wrong!"

She released him as suddenly as she had grabbed him, standing up straight and turning to leave – gritting her teeth at the sound of his soft, derisive laughter behind her.

"You'd love the chance to try, wouldn't you, love?" he goaded her, his cocky smirk unaffected by the little encounter.

This time, Buffy forced herself to ignore his comments, reminding herself that after the ritual was over, she would not longer have to put up with his constant mockery. If her sexual abilities did not shut him up – a single order from her lips would.

As the Slayer and her friend disappeared into the kitchen, Spike muttered under his breath, "Bitch."

He hated the way she had of acting with him, all high and mighty, proud and self-righteous, as if she was the defender of all things good and pure against all things dark and evil – and he was good enough to fit in neither category, in her eyes – relegated to a status not unlike that of the dirt beneath her feet.

The overwhelming blow that his pride had taken with the helplessness that the chip had introduced to his life, was intensified every time she spoke to him, with derision and disgust, making it abundantly clear that she despised him completely.

And yet – he knew that his senses did not lie. The Slayer was attempting – and failing – to hide a powerful attraction to him. In fact it hardly seemed that they were ever in the same room lately when he was not aware of her silent desire for him.

And what was even worse, was the response that intoxicating desire created in him.

He tried to deny it; he insisted that he hated her – wanted her dead, and wanted to be the one to make her that way. Yet, in the end, he could not deny that what his body was screaming out every time he was anywhere near her, was the truth.

He wanted her, too. And that was the most frightening thought of all.

Infuriating bint! he thought resentfully. When I get this bloody chip out – the Slayer's gonna see how bloody neutered I am! She thinks she knows a thing or two about a thing or two, eh? Well I'll be glad to teach her a long, thorough lesson before I drain her dry! he smirked. Then she'll be the one tied up and helpless, and we'll see how she likes it!

Now there was a nice little thought – the Slayer in chains, at his mercy, unable to resist him as he made her eat the words she had just spoke, pleading, begging him for just a little more…

More? He suddenly snapped out of his reverie, wide-eyed in horror. Where had that thought come from?

No! Not begging for more! he corrected his fantasy quickly. Begging for mercy! 'Oh, please, Spike, I admit you're a master vampire, and stronger and smarter and all round better in every way than I am, and in no way weak or unmanly – and bloody sexy – please – touch me again…'

No! he snarled at himself in near panic as he realized the turn his thoughts had taken again. She's the bloody Slayer! You're not supposed to want to shag her senseless, you're supposed to want to kill her dead!

Spike leaned his head back with a weary sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking back up at the door, his sharp blue eyes narrowing in anger at the thought of the girl just beyond it who took so much pleasure in every moment of his humiliation.

When the chip came out, he told himself, a bit too emphatically, the annoying, vicious little blonde was going to pay for the wreckage she had made of his life – because she was responsible. For everything that had gone wrong over the past few years. It was all her fault.

It was the Slayer who had ruined everything for him, beginning when she had paralyzed him in the church that night. If he had not been confined to that bloody wheelchair, he could have defended his rights against Angelus when he had made his appearance a few months later – which was also Buffy's doing, by the way!

Drusilla's unfaithfulness with Angelus had been the beginning of the end for his doomed relationship with his Dark Princess. After that, she had never seemed to regain any amount of respect for him, and had become more and more unfaithful, and more and more blatant about her infidelities, until finally, she did not even bother to try to hide them anymore.

She had blamed it on him, claiming that he was the one who had changed – that he was not really hers at all anymore – that he was obsessed with…

No…he did not care to think about that right now.

But he had only come back to Sunnydale in the first place because Drusilla had left him, and he had blamed the Slayer and Angel for her loss. Deep down, he had thought that he could win her back if he killed the Slayer, to prove to Drusilla that he was hers alone. But he had ended up getting side-tracked with the soddin' love spell business that had gone so badly, and failed to accomplish his original goal – killing Buffy.

But while he was there, he had heard the rumors about the Gem of Amara. And it was when he had come back for the gem that he had had that disastrous battle with the Slayer. A bloke had nothing if he didn't have his pride, right? Couldn't just let it go at that. He had to stay and avenge his reputation of the Slayer.

And it was because of sticking around Sunnyhell to kill the Slayer that he had been captured by the commandos and had the soddin' chip stuck in his head.

So it was really all very clear. Even a bloody child could see it.

It was all Buffy's fault.

Yes, he thought, glaring at the spot where she had disappeared a few minutes earlier. One way or another, he was going to find a way to get the chip out of his head. And when he did, Buffy was going to pay.

William the Bloody was going to kill his third Slayer.

"Okay," Buffy announced as she closed the kitchen door behind her. "Let's do it." She looked expectantly at her Watcher, waiting for his response.

Giles was startled by her sudden surety. "You're – quite certain, Buffy?" he asked cautiously, though his face made it obvious that he was pleased with her decision. He wanted her to go through with the ritual.

Had he know all that it would involve, Buffy thought grimly, he would likely have felt much differently about it.

She nodded decisively. "I'm sure," she declared.

"Buffy, I don't like this," Xander said quietly, sounding very unhappy. "What if something goes wrong? What if he overpowers you, while his chip is down?"

"He won't," Buffy said simply. "I can beat Spike easy. He's never really beaten me…"

You've never really beaten him, either. The thought made her uneasy, so she put it out of her mind. This time – she would.

She had to.

For the next few minutes, Buffy and her friends discussed the particulars of the ritual – though not nearly in as much detail as she and Anya had discussed it. At first, Giles and Xander were both adamantly against the idea of her being alone with Spike to perform the ritual. They wanted to be sure that she was safe, shoe start to get the upper hand.

Buffy did not say what she was thinking – that there would be little that either of them could do to help her against an unchipped master vampire like Spike. But even had the ritual not been of such a personal nature, and the safety of her friends not an issue, something inside her balked at the idea of having anyone else around for this occasion.

Some deep down part of her seemed to recognize that this was going to be a profound, personal sort of thing – powerful rivals locked in battle for mastery – and although she could not explain it, she knew that even if she were to be losing, if she found that she could not defeat Spike on her own – she would not want anyone to intervene.

The thought just seemed – wrong…unfair, somehow.

This was going to be between her and Spike. No one else.

After lots of discussion, and some downright arguing, they finally came up with a basic plan of action. Buffy finally thought of the ideal place to set this epic battle, and they worked out the timing for Willow's spell, and the time they would carry out the plan.

The next night, at 8:00 pm – when Buffy would be at her peak performance level – Spike's chip would lose its signal, allowing him to fight her freely. It would stay down, Willow had said, for approximately six hours. During that time, Buffy knew that her fate and that of the blonde vampire who had crossed her path so many times would once more intersect, in a battle that would change both of their lives in a dramatic and profound way.

But she really had no idea just how important this battle was going to turn out to be.

After the next night – her life would never be the same again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, God," Buffy whimpered, pacing the floor of her bedroom with an almost frantic speed, letting out a little moan of frustration and anxiety as her eyes fell on the alarm clock on her night stand. "I don't think I can do this, Anya."

It was 7:15.

"Well, it's a little late for that now," Anya pointed out to her in a matter-of-fact tone that was ironically calming, the voice of reason in this insane situation that she had somehow managed to get herself into. "The spell's already done, it's just a matter of waiting for it to kick in. And if Spike's chip is gonna go down, you'd better go ahead and fight him!"

Buffy had to admit that she was right. "Well, I guess we'd better go," Buffy muttered, and Anya thought that she would have sounded more excited about facing a hundred regurgitating Frolox demons than the one, currently chipped – but soon to be not – master vampire that she was about to face. "We need to get Spike over there before the spell kicks in."

It was a little after 7:30 when they arrived at Giles' apartment.

Buffy took a deep breath before reaching to open the door. When they entered the living room, the feeling of tension was almost palpable. Giles was sitting at the counter that made up the border between his living room and tiny kitchenette, a full bottle and an empty glass of some kind of liquor in front of him. As she entered, he gave her a flat, unhappy look and refilled his glass, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

He wanted her to do the ritual, but he was not very happy about the idea of her being alone with Spike to do it.

Anya was acutely aware of the resentful looks that Willow kept shooting her out of the corner of her eye. Buffy's reasoning that the red-headed witch needed to get the spell done, so Anya should be the one to help her get ready, hand the ring of an excuse to Willow's perceptive ears, and she was clearly jealous that Anya should have been chosen instead of her to help her best friend prepare.

What bothered Anya even more was the much milder, but very similar look that Xander was giving her as well.

"Slayer!" Spike immediately said when he saw Buffy come in, and there was no mistaking the agitation in his voice. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I ever glad you're here!"

Buffy raised one eyebrow, her mouth quirking slightly up on one side as she gave him a questioning look. She was quite certain that in a very short time, he would not feel that way anymore.

"Your little witch over there has been working her bloody mojo on me, and wouldn't even tell me what it was all about, and the Watcher and the boy keep giving me looks like they wanna stake me right now…and I swear I haven't done a bloody thing, Slayer! I've spent the whole day tied to this soddin' chair!" Spike pleaded his case, looking up at Buffy with wide, angry eyes that betrayed a bit of his fear, in spite of himself.

As he spoke, Willow stood up from the couch and walked to Buffy, placing something in her hand. Spike did not notice what it was until the Slayer moved slowly toward him, raising it in both hands toward his face. It was a thick, black cloth – and he suddenly realized with indignation, and greater fear – she meant to blindfold him.

He jerked his head back, protesting, "Now wait just a bleedin' minute, Slayer! You're not gonna…"

His words cut off in a little yelp of pain as she gripped his hair and yanked his head back forward, leaning in close to speak softly, her eyes focused on his in a penetrating gaze. "I'm not?" she asked with a little smirk. "Wanna tell me just how you're gonna stop me?"

He had absolutely no response, and they both knew it. She watched as his jaw set with anger at her, and at his own helplessness. After a long moment, he said in a low, dangerous voice of barely suppressed rage, "I can't stop you. Not now."

She released her grip on his hair, satisfied that she had made her point.

"But when this chip comes out, Slayer," he went on, meeting her eyes with blazing fury and defiance in his own. "I'm going to show you just why they call me what they do."

"William the Bloody?" she frowned, confused.

With menace shining in his narrowed eyes, the words coming out razor sharp, he corrected her, "Slayer of Slayers."

In a reflex reaction to the chill of fear his words invoked in her, Buffy lashed out, backhanding him hard with her fist, nearly toppling the chair with the force fo the blow. She caught it before it fell, leaning in to place a heavy hand at the back of his neck, pulling him in close to her as she spoke softly, right in his face.

"I look forward to the day when you try!" she informed him with an angry challenge in her eyes – but her fear was also obvious, and he took what satisfaction he could in the knowledge that he had gotten to her. "But until then," she went on with a cold smile, "you can't lift a finger against me – so why don't you just be a good little neutered vampire, so I don't have to kick your ass -- again. Okay?"

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard in a mixture of fear and fury at her completely unwarranted treatment of him.

Fury, that she should dare to treat him with such utter disrespect, as if he were nothing more than a pathetic irritation to be smacked around and manhandled as she saw fit, rather than the powerful master vampire who had claimed the lives of two of her sister Slayers – the powerful master vampire that he still was, only temporarily restrained by the chip in his head.

And fear, because something was clearly wrong with this picture. In all the time he had been in the Watcher's house, Buffy had hardly touched him – well, with the intent of hurting him, anyway, he amended, thinking again of Red's spell. She seemed to be of the opinion that it was wrong to hit him when he couldn't hit back, and she hadn't – much. Once or twice she had punched him, but it had only been if he had tried to hit her first.

Now, the combination of the odd demeanor of her friends, with her own more-aggressive-than-usual behavior, and the strange, calculating light in her eyes, worked together to convince him more and more with every moment of one thing – he was in very real danger.

And that was not even considering the added evidence of the blindfold that the Slayer was bringing toward his face again.

He glared at her in hatred at being forced to submit to it as he muttered out a low response to her words. "Until then," he agreed, with a deadly promise in his words. He would do what he had to in order to survive – and when he managed to get the chip out, the "good little neutered vamp" would vanish, and the master would take his vengeance.

As Buffy tied the dark cloth firmly around his eyes, he fought back a sudden sense of panic, at being suddenly just that much more helpless, unable even to see what they were doing around him – or to him.

"Buffy!" he heard Willow hiss in a loud, urgent whisper, and he suppressed the urge to laugh at the girl's apparent belief that he could not hear her. He could have easily heard her even had she been actually whispering, and her voice was louder than she had intended in her anxiety. "What are you doing provoking him? In a few minutes…"

"Will!" The Slayer's voice was sharp as she cut off her friend's words.

"Oh." Willow's voice was small and sheepish, and he realized with disappointment that the Slayer had called her attention to the fact that he could hear her. "Sorry."

In a few minutes -- what? he wondered almost frantically.

Buffy released a slow breath of relief that she had stopped her over-anxious friend before she had given anything away. They had all decided the night before that it would be best not to let Spike know anything about what was going on until he and Buffy were alone at the site for the ritual. But Willow, not as aware of vampires' heightened senses as Buffy was, had almost given it away ahead of time.

The Slayer felt very conflicting emotions about the whole situation, as she regarded the tense form of the bound vampire in the chair, clearly afraid – and clearly determined not to show it. She had intended by her harsh treatment to shake him up a bit, throw him off his game. And yet, she found herself oddly pleased when his reaction was anger and defiance, as opposed to the breaking of his confidence that she had thought was her goal.

Something in her recognized his courage and strength with admiration, pleased to find in him a worthy opponent.

Of course, she reminded herself, she had already known that Spike was a more-than-worthy opponent; he was the only one of all the enemies she had faced that she had failed to truly defeat. It was that fact more than any other that kept her from staking him, now that he was defenseless. It seemed so unfair, and even – sad – for him to go out that way, after coming through so many battles so impressively.

The truth was – she simply had too much respect for him to stake him now.

But at the moment, she had no intention of letting him see that.

She laid a frighteningly strong hand at the back of his neck again, tipping his head forward as she leaned in to speak close to his ear, feeling him tense under her touch, at her sudden nearness, as she said softly, "We're gonna untie you now. And you're not gonna try anything – are you? Cause I'd hate to have to hurt you."

She was surprised – and a bit disappointed – when he shook his head, indicating that he would obey. Then, he replied in a voice of quiet mockery, "No, I rather think you'd bloody well love it, pet. But I think I'll wait 'til I can hurt you back!"

Buffy was surprised at the relief – and almost…affection -- that she felt at his continued courage in the face of her power over him. Honestly, she had not expected any less from him.

She kept her oppressive grip on the back of his neck as Xander reluctantly untied the ropes that held him to the chair. Once he was free, she pulled him up to his feet, reminding him quietly, "You can't get away. Don't even try it."

"Wouldn't dream of giving you the pleasure, Slayer," he smirked, in spite of the fear rising up inside him.

He was absolutely, utterly helpless against her. He knew he couldn't fight her; that would only result in further pain and humiliation when his chip fired. He would never get in a second blow. And the way she was behaving was leading him to believe that whatever she had planned for him for this evening, it was not going to be pleasant.

He was caught off guard when she grabbed his arm and shoved him into the wall, not very hard, but with enough force to remind him who was in control at the moment.

"Don't move," she ordered, and he didn't, as his arms were pulled behind his back by someone else's hands – until he felt a metal ring close around one of his wrists, and realized with a sense of panic that he was about to be bound again.

His mind raced with the implications. He had been loosed from the chair, but he had been blindfolded and now they were chaining him up again. They meant to take him somewhere, and did not want him to be able to offer any resistance or even know where they were going.

That could only mean that the Slayer intended him serious harm once they got there. And it had to be more than a staking – which would have been bad enough – because that, she could have done here, which a lot less trouble. He had no idea where they planned to take him.

All he knew was that he could not let them take him there.

He suddenly jerked his left wrist out of the grip of the person behind him, who let out a startled little cry and staggered back a step or two, as he simultaneously slammed his elbow into the ribcage of the Slayer at his side, causing her to release his arm and double over in pain. At the exact same moment, he spun around, swinging the handcuffs hanging from his right wrist with flawless aim, catching her in the face, sending her stumbling back a couple of steps with a little gasp. He reached for the blindfold that covered his eyes, heading already toward the door.

And in that moment, the chip caught up with his lightning fast movements.

A powerful jolt of fiery agony punished his defiance, tearing through his head with vicious intensity, and he dropped to his knees with a moan of pain, holding his head, the blindfold, his desperation for escape – forgotten, swallowed up in agony.

Buffy straightened up, holding her bruised ribs with one hand, her other rising to wipe the blood from her face where the handcuffs had cut her, staring at the blood on the back of her hand in surprise, as a slow smile spread across her face. If Spike could do this much damage while chipped…

This was going to be quite a fight.

She frowned, puzzled. And why does that seem like a good thing to me?

Xander, stunned and outraged by the unexpected violence from the supposedly harmless vampire, started toward him with a bitter, angry look on his face, drawing back his foot to aim a vicious kick at his ribcage, heedless of the fact that he was still reeling from the pain of the chip.

Buffy noticed just in time, her eyes widening in alarm, and pulled Xander back before his foot could connect. "Xander," she said quietly. "no."

"He hurt you, Buffy! I thought the whole reason you were letting this worthless little piece of shit live was because he couldn't do that!" Xander spat out the words in hatred, glaring down at the helpless creature with a vindictive rage in his dark eyes.

"No," Buffy repeated again firmly, a warning in her voice as she pushed her friend gently behind her, away from Spike, before crouching down beside the suffering vampire, helping him carefully to his feet.

He was still shaking, gasping for unnecessary breath through the pain, as Buffy pulled his wrists behind his back and locked them into the cuffs, not wanting to risk another incident like the last. This time, he did not resist, still weakened and disoriented by the aftershocks of the chip's assault.

He had completely missed the little exchange that had passed between Buffy and Xander, but he could smell the powerful aroma of the Slayer's blood – knew that he had somehow managed to hurt her – and expected her own punishment to follow at any moment.

He was surprised when her hand touched him, not in violence, but as a steadying support under his elbow, as she led him toward the door. "I guess I don't have to tell you how very not smart that was, do I?" she said, and there was an odd gentleness to her voice.

It only added to his anger with her. "I'm going to make you pay for this, Slayer," he informed her in a low growl.

He could hear the surprised indignation in her voice as she replied, "Hey! That was not my fault! You're the one who decided to go all kamikaze on me, so don't blame me!"

"I do blame you, Slayer," he said in a quiet, deadly serious voice, as they stepped out into the night air.

He wondered briefly if anyone was around, knew that if there was, he could cause the Slayer a hell of a lot of trouble by calling attention to the fact that she was leading a man about bound and blindfolded against his will. But then, he thought about the potential negative effects of that sort of action, if there did not happen to be anyone around to help him – and decided it was not worth the risk.

And then, he understood the reason for the blindfold.

"For what?" Buffy demanded, her voice rising slightly in pitch on the last word, in a way that made her sound very much like a petulant child.

To her surprise, the vampire laughed – a soft, bitter sound – before he replied quietly, "Everything."

"Buffy, are you sure?" Giles turned around in the driver's seat to face his Slayer, who had ridden in the back with Spike.

After all, car doors were not human, and kicking one out would not activate Spike's chip. They both knew that the vampire could easily survive a tumble from the car, if he should choose to take that route.

Buffy figured it was better not to give him the option.

"I'm sure, Giles," she said impatiently, as she got out of the car, pulling Spike along after her, helping him to get out of the vehicle. "You can go, Giles!" she urged him when the older man did not seem inclined to move the vehicle. "We'll be back later."

The implication of the words was not lost on the attentive vampire. She had said "we" – so she did not intend to dust him, then. He was not sure if that was a relief or not. He did feel a sense of relief at the knowledge that it was just the two of them. No paranoid, over-eager Scoobies to get him unnecessarily hurt. Just him and the Slayer. And Slayers, he could deal with.

At least – he could have – before the chip.

He heard the sound of a door being opened, and suddenly his sense were assaulted by the powerful, familiar smell of -- family. He thought hard, trying to figure out where he was, what place they could be that would smell so strongly of…

Suddenly, his attention was focused on more important things, as he felt the Slayer's hands on his wrists, turning a key in the cuffs, and the next moment – he was free. He felt her hands suddenly near his face, though he couldn't see her, and he jerked back instinctively, fighting off panic when his back encountered the wall. He knocked her hand away from his face when she reached for him again, wincing at the small current that shot through his head in warning response to his small act of violence.

"Easy," she said softly, soothingly, as she reached up again to remove the blindfold from his eyes, and this time he did not resist. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

He scoffed at her as he opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the dim light. "Like you'd bloody ca…" His words trailed off as he realized where they were.

The old mansion, where he had spent so long, with Dru – and Angelus.

He looked back at her with suspicion. "What is this, Slayer?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged, with a small, nostalgic sort of smile. "Just thought this might be a good place to do this."

"To do what, exactly?" he slowly asked her, searching her guarded eyes.

She was quiet for a moment, looking down, before she suddenly met his eyes again, an odd little smile on her face. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble for me and mine, Spike -- and I don't intend to tolerate it anymore."

A smirk crossed his face as he looked up at her, derisive despite the fact that he knew he was defenseless against her. "So that's it, then? You mean to beat the bloody daylights out of me and hope I fall in line? Not bloody likely, Slayer!"

"If I beat you -- you will fall in line," Buffy corrected him, a certain hardness coming into her eyes that sent a chill down his spine. "I'm challenging you, Spike. I believe you know how it works. If you can beat me -- well -- then I'm pretty much screwed," she said with a small smile, which faded as she added, "But if I beat you -- then you will submit to me, Spike."

His eyes widened in recognition at her words, a sick feeling settling over him as he realized the ritual that she was talking about. How the bleeding hell had the Slayer found out about it? But that was a soddin' foolish question – from the Watcher, no doubt. He'd have to think of a special way to thank old Rupes for contributing that little piece of information, later.

Providing he didn't become a bloody slave to the Slayer tonight.

"But," he began cautiously, hating the uncertainty in his voice. "the ritual can't apply in this case, Slayer. Because I can't fight you. So – you can't technically challenge me."

Her knowing smirk, not at all surprised by his words, made him feel even sicker as she took a step toward him, effectively eliminating any distance between them. She glanced down at her watch speculatively for a moment, before she looked back up at him appraisingly.

"Hit me," she said softly.

He stared at her for a moment in silence before speaking slowly, cautiously, as if afraid she had lost her mind. "Come again, love?"

"Hit…me," she stated slowly and emphatically, her eyes shining with a secret triumph.

Thinking he understood, he averted his eyes, angry and embarrassed. "Now, that's just bloody cruel, Slayer. You know bloody well I can't, if you're trying to prove a point, trying to say how much of a true vampire I'm not, well you've made your bloody point, now if you'd kindly just sod off and…"

"Spike," she interrupted him sharply, and he realized with alarm that that strange hardness was back in her eyes. "I'm not kidding. Hit. Me."

Bloody hell, but the Slayer was a sadistic bint! he thought as he took a deep breath.  
She knew very well that what she was asking would cause him extreme pain. But they both knew that she could cause him worse pain than the chip would for a simple light blow, with no real intention to hurt her at the moment.

After all, the more he hurt her, the more he hurt himself.

Reluctantly, he complied with her order, half-heartedly slapping her arm, wincing automatically at the expected jolt of pain from the chip – his eyes widening in disbelief when he felt nothing. He glanced quickly at her, cringing exaggeratedly with a hand to his head, thinking it might not be wise to let her know just yet what he had just discovered.

She laughed softly. "I know it didn't hurt you, Spike," she informed him. "So you can drop the act." She paused. "I made it so it wouldn't hurt you."

He stared at her, uncomprehending, shaking his head slightly.

"That was the spell that Will did." She laughed again. "Oh, it's not permanent…that's for sure. But for the next six hours or so…you're chipless."

He looked away from her for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the impact of what she was saying, as she went on talking.

"I knew I couldn't challenge you if you couldn't fight back. So I made it so you could fight back. And if I win – the chip won't matter, anyway. Because you won't be doing any killing or anything like that, with or without the chip. So – do you accept my challenge?"

She looked at him expectantly, waiting as he stared off into space for a few moments, still trying to take it in. Slowly, his head turned and his eyes focused back on hers – and a slow, predatory smile came over his face, his eyes glittering with evil delight, tiny flecks of gold sparking through the crystal blue.

Without warning, he drew back his fist and struck her such a powerful blow that she found herself staggering back up from the ground several yards away, trying urgently to regain her bearings.

Before she could shake off the dizzy feeling enough to even know where either of them were, she heard a chilling triumphant laugh, much closer than she had expected, whirling around to see Spike standing behind her, stalking slowly toward her again.

"Yes, Slayer," he said softly with a cold smirk. "I accept."


	6. Chapter 6

A cold chill of fear swept through the Slayer's heart at the look on Spike's face. For the first time in years, she felt like the prey instead of the predator. As the vampire master that she had deliberately enraged and unleashed – why, again? – began to slowly circle her, a feral gleam in his glittering golden eyes, she began to wonder if she had made a terrible mistake.

Get it together, Buffy! she snapped at herself almost frantically. It's Spike. You can take him. Just Spike. 'Chained to Giles' bathtub' Spike – 'helpless, harmless chipped vampire' Spike – you can do this – you can do this!

But her desperate self-directed pep talk lost some of its impact at the predatory glint in the eyes of the powerful, confident vampire who was currently stalking her, looking more like "I'll kill you on Saturday" Spike than any of the other versions she could remember. She had made the mistake of forgetting just how dangerous he could be, and he was clearly as deadly as he had ever been.

She watched him carefully, turning with his movements, well aware that she had worked him into an even greater determination to beat her than he had already felt, and that if she was not careful, she could find herself fighting not for her freedom, but for her very life.

She was beginning to regret pushing and goading him earlier that evening. She had wanted to provoke him into being a greater challenge to her – but she had a feeling now that he would have been a difficult enough opponent if she had left well enough alone.

Why hadn't she left well enough alone? she wondered desperately.

"So it's just not enough for you that you've destroyed everything that was important to me, everything that was ever good in my bloody unlife, is it, Slayer?" Spike laughed harshly, bitterly, as he edged ever nearer to her, tightening the circle he was pacing slowly around her. "You got the notion in you head that you'd like to make me your soddin' slave as well, is that it? Well, think again, love! It's Never. Gonna. Happen!"

On the last word, he feinted in toward her, and she ducked back, nearly stumbling over the ruins of some ancient furniture behind her. He laughed again, and she cursed her too-obvious fear, her heartbeat racing as she fumbled -- fumbled! – in her waistband for her stake. That was not what she wanted – not what this was about – but if it came to it, she would stake Spike before she would let him kill her.

Or enslave her.

"Is that another new fragrance you're wearing, pet?" he asked her suddenly with an almost pleasant smile – as pleasant as his terrifying demonic visage could ever appear. There was a mocking light in his eyes as he said conversationally, speculatively, looking up toward the ceiling as if in thought, "Smells a bit like – oh, I don't know…"

His fierce eyes focused back on her as he finished in a deadly soft voice, "Absolute terror." The smile slowly came back into place as he added, "Love it on you, love…bloody wonderful."

He paused in his smooth, predatory movements to offer a little shrug. "Personally, I still think you desperately need a shag. Wouldn't hurt you to learn a thing or two – at least from what I've heard." He gave her a suggestive smile as he added, "And I'm gonna bloody love teaching you – after I thoroughly kick your bitchy little arse!"

The fear in the Slayer's eyes was suddenly consumed in flames of fury. Her sexual skills – or lack thereof – was quite a sore spot for her lately, and Spike's bold declaration of his plans for her once he defeated her, in combination with his insulting, derisive words, drove her over the edge.

She lunged at him with a sound that was almost a growl, a primal cry of fury, her stake raised, forgetful of her purpose. He easily dodged her over-extended assault, his laughter only incensing her further as she came to a stop and spun around several yards past where he had been only moments before.

"Now, now, love," he chided her with a smirk. "Mind your temper. Didn't think you wanted to dust me. I know I don't wanna kill you." His smile quirked upward wickedly as he added, "I'd much rather make you do my bloody bidding for the next – well…" Another careless shrug. "…rest of your life."

She stood there, breathing hard, preparing herself to attack again, and was caught off guard when she saw him slowly morphing out of game face, his hands held up in a gesture that clearly said "wait a moment".

"I'll drop mine," he said in a quiet, serious voice that was all the more dangerous for its softness. "if you'll drop yours."

Her eyes widened for a moment, surprised that he would make such an offer. She was a bit more of a threat with her weapon in hand, she knew that. But so was he, with his full vampire strength behind his attack. She slowly lowered the stake, suppressing a smile. Without his being in his true form, she knew she was much stronger – and he was out of practice.

Besides, she only needed the stake if she planned to kill him. Which she didn't.

"Fine," she said shortly, dropping the stake and allowing it to roll unheeded a few feet away.

He watched it for a moment, bemused, before looking back at her and shaking his head slightly, laughing.

"What?" she asked, irritated, assuming a battle stance, on guard for his next attack – which she was certain she could take. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing much," he chuckled, still shaking his head. "Just this…" His smile faded as his features suddenly shifted back to reveal his true vampiric nature. "I lied."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, as self-directed fury came over her that she had been foolish enough to trust him, and she darted down to reach for her stake again, noting with dismay that it was just a bit out of reach.

Before she could get to it, the lightning fast vampire was blocking her path, a smile of triumph on his face. She took a step backward warily as he walked slowly toward her, unhurried. "Big mistake, Slayer," he said softly. "Dropping your weapon. Mine's a lot easier to get back than yours is."

"I'm gonna make you pay for that, Spike," she practically spat out at him, still backing away, glancing about her for anything that she could use as a weapon. "You tricked me! Even if you do beat me – you'll always know that it wasn't a fair fight."

"Well, what can I say, love?" he smirked. "I'm evil."

Buffy found suddenly with dismay that her back was to the wall. She knew he was at least nearly as strong as she was, and better armed at the moment, but her only choice was going to be to fight her way back out of the corner and somehow get to her stake. Even if she didn't actually use the stake, it would at least even the playing field again, giving her a bit of protection if she needed it.

She lashed out with a rapid fire blow to his stomach, doubling him over slightly, and followed up by aiming a second blow at his face. But he once again employed his vampire speed, and caught her wrist before the blow could connect, pinning it back against the wall, raising his other fist to smash down into her face.

He released her wrist, raining down more and more powerful blows upon her, before she could even recover from the first one. He paused, breathing hard, standing over her with an almost jovial smile that said how much pure pleasure he was getting out of the act of beating the crap out of her, and watched as she shook her head, gasping for breath, trying to struggle to her feet.

"You know where I think you made your big mistake, Slayer?" he mused, with a thoughtful little frown, though his eyes still danced with laughter. His smile gradually faded to a serious expression as he answered his own question. "You forgot who you were dealing with."

Buffy managed to make it to her feet, though she was still winded and battered – and scared out of her mind. She had barely managed to get in a few good blows – and he was ready for more again. "That won't happen again!" she said in a defiant near-whisper of fury, glaring at him with disgust.

"No," he said softly. "I don't believe it will. In a few minutes, pet – you'll be well aware for the rest of your life just who I am – your master."

The words set her heart to pounding with terror – and she felt a new surge of adrenaline pumping through her. That could not -- could not -- happen! He watched in pleased surprise as she steadied herself, eyes flashing deadly fury focused on his. She was weak, and weary – but she was far from giving up.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, her voice lighter than she actually felt, spinning suddenly to catch him in the side with a kick that was more powerful than he had expected, and actually managed to knock him down. "But you'll have to find someone else to be your little servant and do every little thing you say." Before he could rise, she pressed her slight advantage, slamming her fist into his face as he rose to his knees, knocking him back again.

"Oh, wait!" she corrected with a frown of mock concern, that quickly turned to a smug smile. "Never mind. You'll be too busy doing every little thing I say!"

"Not bloody likely, pet," he muttered, staggering to his feet and backing quickly up a few paces, hurrying to put a little bit of distance between them to give him time to recover. It seemed that the Slayer, caught off her guard the first time, was getting her second wind. "You'll have to dust me first." He shrugged. "Not that that's gonna happen, either."

"We'll see," Buffy mused. "Not exactly what I had in mind…but you never know. Keep pressing your luck. You might not end up at my beck and call after all."

"I'm counting on that," he shot back, feinting in to the left and then surprising her with a sharp blow to her right that sent her staggering back toward the wall again.

He moved in quickly toward her again, repeating what had worked the first time and not giving her a chance to recover. The blows fell too quickly for Buffy to keep count as she was pressed back again against the wall. One powerful punch knocked her head back against the wall, and she struggled to hold her head up, on the verge of blacking out.

When she managed to open her eyes, Spike was gazing into them, fierce golden eyes searching hers with what looked a bit like – concern? No, she scoffed at her own ridiculous thought. Idiotic delusion brought on by too much trauma to the head. She was suddenly very much aware of how close he was to her, standing in front of her so near that their bodies were almost touching.

She struggled to move away from the wall, needing to put some space between them, and realized that he held her wrists, pinned to the wall on either side of her head. She fought to pull out of his grip, but she was beaten and weary, and he was still strong, having suffered little actual damage in the fight so far.

"Let go of me!" she snarled at him helplessly, though she knew he would not. Her heart sank with despair as she realized how thoroughly he had her, but she tried hard not to show it.

His perceptive eyes took in every detail of her demeanor, her expression. He could hear her heart racing, the intoxicating call of her blood beckoning him from the places where his blows had broken her skin. He could smell the fear radiating off of her, knew that she knew she had lost – and yet, she stared back at him with bold defiance, her mouth set in a line of determination.

If she was going to lose – she was not going to do it crying or pleading or uselessly trying to get away.

She was the Slayer.

There was only dignity for her, even in her defeat.

He found himself suddenly feeling a sense of awe as he stared into her emerald eyes, shining up at him with no lack of fear in their depths, but with a courage that was stunning to him, considering the fate that lay before her. He imagined breaking that courage, beating and humiliating it out of her, forcing her to obey his every command until one day, that confidence, that inherent power – shattered under his will.

It was a sickening thought.

Bloody beautiful, the thought came to him unbidden, and his eyes widened in surprise that he should be thinking that about his mortal enemy, now fallen into his hands.

But then, why should he be surprised? he reminded himself, his mind going back to Red's spell, and how desperately he had wanted Buffy then – the feel of her soft, silky skin beneath his hands, her soft warm kiss on his lips, those defiant, vibrant eyes gazing at him in adoration.

Those eyes widened suddenly, and he realized suddenly the effect that the sight of her, the memories of touching her, were having on him. They were standing so close together that she could not help but feel the pressure of his swelling erection against her thigh.

He watched with a bit of embarrassment – which irritated him, because he was a bloody vampire, damn it! He shouldn't have been embarrassed! – and then surprise as various emotions passed through her eyes. Surprise – indignant anger – and then, a certain softening in those fathomless green eyes – followed by – longing.

He was stunned when suddenly the fragrance of the Slayer's arousal came to his senses, unexpected. He held her very life in his hands; the fact that he wanted her in this way would have horrified and sickened many girls, considering his intentions for her.

And yet, the Slayer, his mortal enemy – wanted him back.

Focus! he reminded himself suddenly. Focus, Spike! This is your victory, now take it! Take it now!

He forced a careless smirk to his lips, shrugging his shoulders as he said, "Well, that didn't last long. Bloody unsatisfying if you ask me. But it looks like I win, pet." He lowered his mouth toward her throat, intending to savor the taste of his prize.

Suddenly, the Slayer's head dipped down with his, her mouth darting into his path, catching his lips with hers in a bold maneuver that stunned him and took his breath away. At first he pulled back a bit, not sure how to respond, but when the Slayer's hungry mouth only moved forward with him urgently, he found himself responding, leaning further in to deepen the kiss.

His hands left her wrists and went to her waist, pulling her in closer to him, relishing her gasp at the sensation of his bulging desire pressed against her still-covered center. Her hands went around him as well, one at the back of his head, urgently pressing them closer, the other around his waist, moving rapidly up and down his back as they kissed.

Finally, when she was breathless and desperate for air, they separated, staring with a sort of shock into the other's eyes. He had no bloody idea what was happening here – what sort of a turn this whole thing had just taken – and his eyes searched hers uncertainly.

"Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head. "What…"

She was staring up at him earnestly, wide-eyed with seeming surprise at her own actions. He watched again as the expression in her eyes changed gradually, running a gamut of conflicting emotions – desire, need for him – followed by a sobering realization of what had just happened between them – shock…and then…

She looked down, breaking the connection, her hands which now rested at his waist slipping back around in front to rest between them at the top of his jeans.

"Spike, I…" she whispered, shaking her head, not looking at him. "I…" She moved one hand to brush lightly across his cheek as she slowly raised her eyes to his again, once again earnest and searching, though somehow – different – than before…

And suddenly, her hand flew back, forming a fist as it did and slamming into his face hard, knocking him a few steps back, and she took her opportunity to spin away from the wall, a soft little laugh humming in her throat, not fully released, as she shook her head with a slow, triumphant little smile, just before she softly finished her statement.

"…can't believe that actually worked."


	7. Chapter 7

WARNING: For those of you easily squicked, this chapter and the couple to follow contain descriptions of semi-to-non-con sexual activity...the next few chapters will be the darkest part of this fic (which is really not that dark, IMO)  
Also, just for those of you anxiously awaiting who the winner of this match will be, I have just two words:  
ASSUME NOTHING:)  
And with that, happy reading...hope you enjoy it:)

Buffy watched, her heart pounding with adrenaline, her fear swallowed up in the triumph of her trick, as Spike righted himself from the dizzying blow, all the more impactful as it was completely unexpected. She mentally congratulated herself as he stared at her incredulously, the expression in his eyes shifting as she watched, from confusion -- to shock -- to disbelief -- and finally, rage.

"You bloody bitch!" he roared at her, lunging for her in his fury.

She easily side-stepped him as he had done to her before, trying hard – and mostly successfully – to keep her mind on the battle at hand, and not on the brief but amazing interlude she had just shared with her opponent. She had been surprised by the evidence of his arousal, as he had held her pinned to the wall -- but even more surprised by the responding desire it had awakened in her.

In that moment when she had realized that he wanted more than her blood or her defeat, her mind had flooded with memories of previous kisses, embraces, all taking place while under Willow's spell -- and then, as his mouth had descended toward her throat, without really knowing why she was doing it -- she had kissed him.

Yes, she knew that she did not want him to bite her, and kissing him made for a very good distraction. But she could just have easily "distracted" him with a knee to the groin, instead of the tender kiss she had chosen. She was trying to keep from admitting it to herself, her mind racing with wonderings even as she kept her eyes focused on her enemy, but the truth was, she had kissed him -- simply because she wanted to.

Afterwards, she could hardly believe what she had done. She felt a sense of shock at her own boldness, as well as at the feelings that that single kiss had evoked. But the fact remained that she was still face to face with a master vampire whose ultimate goal was to make her his submissive little slave -- never mind the fact that the whole thing had been initiated by her to begin with -- so she had taken the opportunity that had presented itself -- and pretended that she had planned it all along.

And now, invigorated by her small triumph, she was in full-on slay-mode, her mind racing several steps ahead in the fight, shrewd and calculating – she felt absolutely unstoppable. However accidentally the situation had come about, she was beginning to think that she could make pretty good use of the situation, after all. Spike seemed to be every bit as angry as she had been before, over his insulting sexual comments -- too enraged to concentrate fully on what he was doing.

And she fully planned to use that to her advantage, and press it as far as she could.

"What did you expect, Spike?" she sneered. "That I would just fall at your feet? 'Oh, yes, Mr. Big Bad Evil Vampire! I'd love to be your simpering little sex slave!" She scoffed at him. "Right! Like that'd ever happen!"

The furious vampire came at her again, incensed by her mockery of how he had fallen for her ruse. There was a low, menacing growl deep in his throat as he spoke in a voice that still trembled with anger, but was a bit more controlled than moments before.

"Bloody right it wouldn't! A sex slave has to have at least some idea what she's doing; otherwise she's not worth it. And you, Slayer," he sneered. "are not worth it!" He paused. "No," he went on. "I don't think I'm going to waste my time. I think I'm just going to drain you dry!"

Buffy felt her temper rising, but this time she knew what he was doing, and she fought it back. She had learned her lesson the hard way, and she had no intention of letting him get to her again like he had before. No, at the moment she was all about making him lose his cool -- and make a crucial mistake.

"Maybe you'd better wait to make any judgments on that until you can speak for yourself," she suggested with a predatory smile. "Just give me a few more minutes," she shrugged, her eyes glittering dangerously in the dimly lit room. "and you can tell me yourself whether or not I'd be a waste of your time!"

Her sudden burst of confidence was vaguely unsettling to Spike. He could see a difference in the way she was fighting, speaking, responding to his barbs. It was as if she realized that she had underestimated him to begin with, but now she was doing battle on a whole different level, anticipating his movements more quickly – using every bit of the skill and power of the chosen warrior that she was.

He realized that this made things considerably more difficult, and he would have to be at his best as well if he wanted to get out of this free and undead, but he still determined not to let her see that she was getting to him.

"Right," he drawled with a derisive smirk. "I think I can live without knowing, pet. Honestly, I'm really just not that interested. No, I still think killing you is my best option." As he spoke, he lunged at her again, aiming a fist for her face.

"I don't think you've got any options, Spike," Buffy laughed as he lunged at her again, and she dodged out of his way at the last second, causing him to pass her, grabbing his arm as he did and using his own momentum to sling him into a pillar a few yards away.

She kept her own movements calm and even as she sauntered toward the slightly disoriented vampire who was pulling himself to his feet, bracing himself on the pillar that she had so thoughtfully positioned behind him. "Pretty soon," she went on with a smirk, "your only option at all is going to be to make -- me -- happy!"

With those words she came at him again before he had time to recover, attacking him with a series of powerful punches, keeping him trapped between her and the pillar, and not giving him enough time to get in any blows of his own. He felt a rising sense of alarm at the fury and power of her assault, which seemed to be increasing with every blow.

When she stopped, he was holding one arm across his ribs, struggling to straighten back up. She did not give him time to, moving in quickly with a brutal backhand punch that knocked his head back into the wall, followed by a roundhouse kick to his stomach that dropped him to the ground, breathless.

"Guess I picked up a trick or two from you, after all, Spike," she smirked, a strange almost feral gleam in her glittering green eyes. "Don't give your opponent any breathing room. Thanks for the lesson."

He came to rest on his knees for a moment, still dizzied by too many blows to the head, and watched her warily as he struggled back to his feet as quickly as he could, only to lean back against the pillar for support, gasping for breath. She moved in closer, her eyes narrowed with a dangerous, predatory light as the Slayer closed in on her prey.

"My pleasure, pet," he gasped out finally, giving her a cool smile in spite of his apparently bad situation. "Got one more lesson for you, though."

"Oh, yeah?" she smiled coldly, her expression and tone saying that she was quite confident by this point in her ability to end this fight quickly. "What's that?"

Instantly his breathless gasping ceased, and he raised his head, meeting her gaze with a sharp, predatory smile. "I don't need breathing room," he informed her softly, delivering a lightning fast punch to her face that knocked her back a bit, then moving away from the pillar and spinning around to land a vicious kick to her back that dropped her to the ground on her stomach.

Buffy fought off panic, allowing her deepest instincts to take over, rolling onto her back with her arms out defensively in front of her, her fists ready, just as Spike leapt upon her, struggling to pin her to the ground and subdue her.

It was the thought of submission that infuriated her on some deeper level. She was more than just a girl being attacked; she was the Slayer, the Chosen One. She was strong, powerful, and more than capable of defeating any enemy that came her way.

With these thoughts that flew through her mind, and a fresh surge of adrenaline born of her desperate situation, she suddenly felt a rush of primal power coursing through her body, and she knew -- knew -- that she could win this.

Spike was laughing, holding her arms down across her chest, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Her eyes widened when she realized that the fight had him more aroused than ever – and then narrowed in outrage and defiance. He saw her reaction, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction as he slowly ground down against her once, leaning down to whisper near her ear.

"Still think I'm bloody neutered, Slayer?"

She gasped at the sensation of her body's automatic reaction to his touch, and the low, seductive tone of his voice. Once again, she was stunned at how badly she actually wanted his touch.

And yet, she felt an overwhelming sense of rage overcome her, her inner Slayer rebelling at being touched in such a dominant, overtly sexual way by the demon that she had come here to wrestle into submission. 

With a quick upward thrusting motion, she slammed her elbow up into Spike's chin, snapping his head back and making him loosen his grip on her, and then took her advantage to reverse their positions, straddling his hips and gripping his wrists, pinning them over his head.

He fought to free himself from her grip, finding it difficult with the lack of leverage, but his wrists still edging up from the ground in her hands as he tried, their arms locked together trembling with their combined effort. Her face was mere inches from his, her sparkling green eyes narrowed in a calculating look, somewhere between menace and seduction.

When she thought back on it, Buffy would not immediately understand what had possessed her to do what she did next. She was not even aware that she was going to do it as she went into action, her body moving with the impulses of her inner Slayer, as opposed to those of the naïve, self-conscious girl that she was most of the time.

Much to the surprise of her opponent beneath her, Buffy began to slowly bear down in a circular motion on his bulging erection, some powerful, primal instinct telling her that this was the way to overcome the creature she was striving with – to place him at her mercy.

She smiled in sly satisfaction when he gasped, throwing back his head involuntarily, his struggles against her restraining hands weakening for a moment and his wrists falling back to the ground – as the Slayer in her had known that they would. "Hmmm," she murmured, a throaty sound that was almost a purr as she leaned down so close that her lips brushed his ear. "Maybe not."

"I – don't…" he gasped out, trying to come up with a coherent statement, stunned and overwhelmed with feeling as the Slayer brought his wrists together over his head, holding them with one hand, freeing the other to slip down to the front of his jeans, slow, expert fingers rubbing around the head of his erection, driving his desire even higher.

Spike struggled to make himself think through the powerful sensation of the Slayer's hand and body against his, moving not like a self-conscious, inexperienced college girl, but like the most dangerous siren he could imagine. He knew she was luring him to his doom.

Still, he could not resist her.

Still – he tried.

"No," he whispered. "Stop…"

Instantly Buffy ceased all motion, raising her hips up off of her rather incapacitated quarry, resting on her knees, hovering over him, moving her hand up to grip his wrist again, as she leaned up close to his face, kissing his throat a couple of times, slowly, seductively.

She pulled back, her voice a low husky murmur, to whisper, "You want me to stop?"

His body ached with the loss of her touch, which had both eased the agony of his need and driven it deeper into him. "No," he gasped almost without meaning to. "No…don't stop…"

The Slayer's low, predatory laugh sent both chills down his spine and a rush of heat through his body, at the intentions that that laugh betrayed. Her hand obligingly returned to his aching erection, stroking him firmly through his clothes, and he left out a low moan of pleasure. There was a reason why he wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. Why wasn't he supposed to be enjoying this?

It did not seem to matter. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation.

Buffy leaned down close to his ear, her hot breath sending a shiver down his spine as she whispered in a gloating tone of triumph, "You are making this so…easy…"

His eyes suddenly snapped open, her words bringing the gravity of the situation back with blinding clarity. Buffy realized her mistake when his struggles renewed in earnest, and he managed to jerk one arm free, backhanding her off of him with a powerful blow and landing quickly on top her again.

His eyes were still hazy with his need for her – but he did not mean for that to be a problem for long. His slow smirk spread across his face, even as he tried to catch the breath he did not need, looking her in the eye to say softly, "You almost had me there, Slayer."

She smiled back up at him lazily, her demeanor unshaken by the reversal of their positions. "Who says I still don't?" she countered.

"Gotta say," he said with a little half shrug, gripping her wrists in a mimickry of the position she had held him in. "You've just about changed my mind pet. Don't know if you're worth a second go – but I'll take a first."

The Slayer's smiling eyes narrowed and darkened dangerously, and she raised her knee quickly between his legs – not too hard; after all, she didn't want to ruin the rest of her plans for the evening – but enough to be painful against his over-sensitive manhood. He gasped in pain, and she felt his grip loosen on her.

It was enough for her to break it, slamming her fist across his face again, and toppling him back off of her. She grabbed him again, pinning him down before he could recover, and then rubbing her thigh roughly over his erection, causing him to groan with mingled pain and pleasure at the contact.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, seeing the effect she was having on him and taking her chance, "Had enough?"

He fought to open his eyes, gradually bringing them to focus on her in a lascivious grin as he gasped out, "Hardly, love."

The Slayer felt a surge of anger at her power being defied, and increased the pressure slightly, watching as his eyes rolled back slightly just before he closed them. "I think you have," she smirked. "You know you've lost. I win. Just say it."

He did not open his eyes, light-headed, panting for breath by now, but his smile still returned as he whispered, "Never, pet. Sorry. And you can't win – if I don't – say it." His words came out in gasps for air, but still held an infuriating note of triumph.

She knew he was right – and it enraged her. The main point of the whole exercise was for him to acknowledge her authority. She could beat him and screw him six ways to Sunday, and if he refused to acknowledge her – it would be meaningless.

"Well, then," she said with a cool smile. "I guess you'd better start talking, hadn't you?" As she spoke, she applied more pressure with her knee, eliciting a soft moan that could have been of either pleasure or pain – or both. "Say it," she whispered in a harsh, demanding tone by his ear, jerking her knee up harder, while still careful not to do any real damage. "I win – right?"

She was surprised – and elated – when the vampire beneath her nodded slowly. She froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. Was he really conceding defeat? Had she really won so easily? "Right?" she repeated, wanting to be sure it was not just a fluke.

"Right," he whispered, nodding again. "Right."

The stunned, elated and disbelieving college girl came to the forefront for a few moments in Buffy's excitement, still not comprehending completely what had just happened, only that she seemed to have come out victorious.

I won? I really won? she thought with joyous disbelief, as she backed up and climbed off of her conquered foe…

Completely missing the almost imperceptible soft smile that crossed his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

Spike kept his eyes closed for a few moments as the Slayer slowly backed off of him, his mind racing, trying to decide exactly what to do next. She had caught him off guard, with the sudden power of her attack, gaining the upper hand, and preventing him from getting it back by employing the very sexual skills he had taunted her about, claiming that she lacked.

Apparently – he had been wrong.

It had not taken him long to realize that if things kept going the way they were going, he was going to lose himself to the Slayer – in more ways than one. If she kept insisting that he concede defeat, using the techniques she had been using, he was not sure how long he would be able to hold out.

He had used the vague, half-hearted agreement to her demand in an attempt to gain a little space, half-expecting it to fail, and for her to immediately demand a more complete answer. After all, she should know that he had to give her more than the "right" he had given her, in order for the ritual to be effective. He had to actually accept her authority over him.

It would not take much. A simple "you win" or even a "yes", in response to the right question from her – but it had to be a clear and direct acceptance of her victory.

Apparently, the Slayer did not know the ritual as well as she thought she did.

This could work out well, he began to think with cautious optimism. If she thought that she had won already – that he was already under her control – she would let her guard down in some way, and he would be able to take back the victory. All he had to do was play along until she did.

He slowly opened his eyes, looking warily up at her as he raised his body up on his elbows, trying very hard to keep any trace of laughter from his expression at her wide-eyed surprise. She had to keep believing that he had already lost to her.

Now how would I react if I'd lost to the Slayer? he wondered.

That thought was certainly no help in the straight-face-keeping department. He almost laughed out loud -- Like that would ever happen! -- and that would never do. He knew beyond all doubt that of all possible reactions, that would be the least convincing.

"What's funny?" the Slayer suddenly demanded, a cold, soft sound to her voice that sent an odd shiver through him as he looked up into suddenly blazing emerald eyes, glaring down at him fiercely with a penetrating gaze.

The naïve girl, surprised at her sexual victory, had vanished. In fact, he had never seen the Slayer look quite like this before. Everything about her exuded power – and desire. There was a smoldering look of intense arousal mingled with the triumph in her eyes – and it only made him want her more.

As he watched, she arched one brow in a dangerous question, reminding him that he had yet to answer her.

"Nothing," he said, breaking eye contact, not wanting her to read anything suspicious in his gaze – and not really remembering what had been funny now, anyway.

He slowly started to get up – and was instantly slammed back down on his back by a powerful foot on his chest, pinning him down. He looked up at the Slayer again in surprise – and his jaw went slack at the sight of her long, shapely leg, leading up to her very short, very tight red leather skirt. The sensation of desire he felt for her deepened as the scent of her arousal came to him that much stronger from between her parted legs.

"Did I tell you to get up?" she asked in a soft voice, and he looked up to see a smirk turning up the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement, but hard with power.

Defiance swept through him, but he struggled to hold it back. After all, at the moment, she held all the good cards in her hand – but he did have a plan. He did not want to act rashly and ruin it. If he attacked now and she managed to get the upper hand again, all would be lost. She had already proven at least once in this fight that she would not fall for the same trick twice.

And he had already proven that he would.

He looked away, shaking his head, trying to appear submissive and contrite. "No," he whispered.

He felt the pressure on his chest relieved as she removed her foot and said in that same unsettling voice of soft authority, "Get up."

Breathing hard with a strange mixture of fear, anticipation, and desire, he climbed slowly to his feet. There was no denying it; he wanted her desperately by this point. But he knew that she wanted him to. And if he played his cards right, he could go along with what she thought was the symbol of her victory, right up until the very end, and then turn the tables on her when she would be at her weakest, in the throes of passion.

He would bring the Slayer to her knees.

But it was a dangerous game he was playing, and he knew it. There was a very strong chance that the very same desire he saw in her eyes, the weakness that he planned to use against her, could be his downfall instead.

He just had to keep a certain measure of con…

Bloody hell!

Without warning the Slayer quickly closed the distance between them, shoving him forcefully back against the pillar behind him, one tiny hand moving between them to stroke slowly up and down the length of the swelling bulge in the front of his pants.

He gasped at the sudden contact, feeling his legs go weak at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure caused by her touch, so much stronger and bolder than any mortal woman's should have been.

She smiled at his reaction. There was none of the self-doubt or insecurity in her eyes now that he had seen when he had mocked her earlier. The Slayer knew that she was the one with the power now. "You like that?" she whispered in a low, seductive voice.

He was not acting when he nodded quickly, breathless. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes."

A quiet voice in his head – quieter by the moment – warned him to caution. Careful what you say, mate – mind your words – the wrong one could lose you the bloody game in an instant.

But "yes" in response to what she had just asked him was okay, he reassured himself mentally. It was safe. He was still in control. All she had said anyway was -- what had she asked him again? he wondered, as her fingers slid as far beneath his erection as the taut fabric of his jeans would allow, and he let out a low groan of pleasure before he could stop himself.

The Slayer's low, throaty laugh only intensified his need, as she put her other arm around him, pulling him into a kiss as she pulled him away from the pillar and started backing him up across the room, her hand still working at the front of his jeans, expertly driving him to a greater intensity of desire.

Gotta stay aware – gotta stay in control… he reminded himself, as she steered him toward her destination, unknown to him. But he did not open his eyes, just returned her kiss urgently, unthinkingly, as they moved through a doorway into the next room.

He felt the backs of his knees hit something soft but unyielding, struggled for a moment to stay upright, but then fell onto his back as the Slayer pushed him down. The kiss momentarily broken, he glanced around quickly and saw that he was lying on the old iron-wrought four post bed in the master bedroom, though the Slayer had made the bed up with fresh silk sheets for the occasion.

The very bed he had once shared with Dru.

Before she had abandoned and betrayed him, for his "emotional unfaithfulness".

As he looked up into the Slayer's glittering green eyes, narrowed and almost feral in their lust for him – he wondered if Dru had not been right all along.

Suddenly, the unexpected loss of Buffy's touch drove all thoughts of Dru from his mind, as he let out a soft warning growl that was almost instinctive, calling her hands back to their work – and was immediately alarmed when he realized what he had done. Would that give away to Buffy that he was not really under her control?

The Slayer did not seem surprised by his reaction, but she shot him a hard look through narrowed eyes, and he almost could have sworn that he heard an answering growl low in her throat. Either way, the menace of her reaction was enough to silence him for the moment, as Buffy's hands caught his wrists, raising them above his head.

He did not realize what she was doing until he felt cold iron lock around one of his wrists, and looked quickly above him with alarm. She already had him bound to the bed at one wrist, if not completely restrained. Getting the upper hand again would be impossible if he did not have the use of his hands at all!

Of course, she already thought she had won, so he knew that at any rate, he would not be in any danger of being forced into submission to her, as long as he watched his words carefully – but he would not be able to truly bring her into his power, either, if he did not have the freedom to overpower her at all.

Buffy saw the look of near-panic on his face as his wide eyes met hers again – and froze. He could tell immediately that she had misread the reason behind his reaction to the chains – fortunately – as he saw a sick, uncertain look come to her face for just a moment – the girl overpowering the Slayer briefly.

He was surprised by the horrified realization in her whispered voice as she said, "You don't want this. Me. Do you?"

The fact that she was even asking was a wonder to him in itself. The girl had initiated a bloody vampire dominance ritual, for Pete's sake! Did she think it mattered what the loser wanted in a situation such as this? It didn't make any difference – and that was kind of the point. She was kind of supposed to force her will on him – though she did not know that she wasn't forcing him, not really.

But the look on her face made it clear to him that the thought of forcing herself on him was repulsive to her.

Up until this point, he realized, his obvious desire for her had kept it from sinking in for her just exactly what it was she was doing. His fear at the introduction of the chains, however, had brought reality back to her with startling speed.

But the truth was – he did want her. His body was crying out for her touch, begging her to finish what she had started. Not to mention the fact that getting her in the throes of passion was his best chance to actually win this soddin' showdown. No, the actual sex with Buffy was not the problem for him – not at all.

It was the bloody chains that were the problem.

"Yes," he admitted in a whisper. "Yes, I – I want you…"

She frowned slightly with further understanding, her eyes falling on his manacled wrist. "Just – not the chains," she realized.

He swallowed hard, realizing that the outcome of this little situation depended very much on his words, and her response, right now. He shook his head slowly, averting his eyes. "No," he whispered.

She studied his face for a moment, clearly torn. He waited in silence, thinking that he knew what she was thinking. If she had already won, then the chains were really unnecessary, weren't they? After all, he had to submit to her. The act they were engaging in was really only symbolic, according to what she had been told – so she did not need to restrain him, and he would still submit – especially since he wanted her anyway.

He breathed out a soft sigh of relief as she reached above his head and unlocked the cuff around his wrist, then reached her hand back down toward his jeans. This Slayer was turning out to be even more of a pushover than he'd thought. This was going to be a bloody piece of…

His thoughts were cut off as she suddenly took his throbbing member in a grip of iron to rival that of the chains she had just discarded, giving a sharp little tug that made him moan in mingled pleasure and pain.

Not loosening her grip, her thumb pressing in a small, circular motion on the underside of his sensitive manhood, she leaned down close to his ear and whispered in a possessive tone, "Mine!"

He bit his lip to keep from responding, a very dangerous thing at this point. Her touch, the possessive growl in her voice, made him want her so much, it was almost second nature to respond. But even the slightest whispered, "yes" or even worse, "yours" at this point would be to forfeit the game completely.

On the other hand, a complete failure to respond might arouse her suspicions – also very dangerous, with him in this very vulnerable position. He figured that a simple nod was safe, as they Slayer did not seem to understand that it was only valid if he actually spoke the words aloud.

She smiled, a slow, predatory smile, as she continued the slow circular motion with her thumb, increasing the pressure and squeezing slightly with her hand.

"God – Buffy.." he gasped, his arms rising instinctively to go around her.

"Don't," she ordered sharply, ceasing all motion of her hand as she did.

He froze immediately with a little whimper at his loss, his hands slowly lowering back onto the bed, his body shuddering with the need she had created, and then withheld from him. He felt an overwhelming sense of frustration as she released him completely, her hands moving slowly to close around his wrists on either side of him, slowly raising them over his head again and holding him there as she whispered,

"Do you want to touch me?"

He nodded urgently, gasping for breath, more desperate by the moment for contact as she slowly raised her body up off of his, hovering over him, so near that he could feel the intense heart radiating off her body, but only actually touching him at his wrists, and where her knees touched his sides.

She looked down to whisper tauntingly in his ear, so close that he could feel her smirk against his skin, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine, "Too bad. You don't get to touch me, Spike. Not 'til I say so."

He was well aware that the situation was quickly spinning out of his control completely. She had driven him to a point of need from which he could not turn back, and yet was holding herself at a distance, not allowing him the use of the only weapon at his disposal at the moment – touch.

He knew that if he could touch her, he could reduce her to a quivering heap of begging, desperate desire in minutes – if she would only allow him the chance. But if he fought her at all now, gave away that he was not under her control, she would know that she had been tricked, and they would be back to fighting again.

And something told him that at the moment – she would have a decided advantage.

Besides, truth be told, ritual or no – he was beginning to think that she already had more control than was good for him. He wasn't sure he could have resisted her had he tried, at the moment.

"You want me to touch you?" The Slayer's low, seductive voice cut through his thoughts again, sending a rush of desire all through him at her offer – which a part of him was already sure she intended to extend – and deny, again.

Still, he whispered desperately, "Yes…yes…"

She laughed softly, a wickedly gleeful sound, as she brushed her body down slowly across his swollen erection, sending a shock of sensation from his sensitive manhood, all through his entire body, and he shook at the touch, gasping out, "Buffy…God, Buffy…" Without conscious thought he found himself thrusting up toward her, desperate with need for deeper contact.

Instantly the Slayer withdrew herself completely, rising up again, out of his reach, fixing him with a steely glare. "No," she snapped, and he immediately froze, not daring to move again.

He knew it was just an act, and he was not under her control – well, no more than any man would have been in his position – but there was something in her cold, authoritative tone; in her narrowed eyes, nearly feral with lust for him, that spoke of pure, primal power, older than either of them – some deep thing inside her born of her calling, a power that she could not have comprehended, although she was consumed with it.

"I didn't say you could touch me!" she informed him in a severe voice that made him flinch in spite of himself.

She paused, then – and her next actions surprised him. She leaned down slowly to kiss his neck, moving slowly inward toward his throat, her head gently pushing his back, leaving his throat bared to her in that most primal of gestures of submission. The hot, most ouch of her lips to the sensitive skin of his neck was driving him wild with need for her – and yet she kept all other contact from him.

"Please," he found himself whispering, "Please, Buffy – please…"

He felt her lips form a soft smile against his skin, just before she pulled back to look him in the eye. "Please what?" she whispered, teasingly, dipping down just once, allowing her center to brush slowly against the very tip of his erection again.

"Please…Buffy….please…" he gasped, barely able to think for the power of the sensation of her touch.

"What do you want?" she pressed in a whisper of breath near his ear, rising up off him again.

"God, you, Buffy! Please! Please, Buffy, I need you! Please!" he babbled almost incoherently, in fevered need for the touch she was tempting him with, but withholding.

Then, slowly, holding his gaze intently as she did, she finally did grant his plea, lowering her body slowly down onto his, sheathing him inside her, inch by inch, as she moved her hands down from above his head, pulling his arms around her before wrapping hers around him – unspoken permission to touch.

Touching her…his hands…free…there was a reason why…why that was important…if only…if only he could think! He needed to be able to touch her…because…because… touching her was…

Precisely what he needed to win.

It hit him again, and he gasped as he remembered where he was, what was happening – and what he had to do now. The Slayer only smiled, thinking his reaction was to her touch.

And now, he thought through the haze of desire that surrounded him, trying to make his mind focus again on his original goal. Let's show the little bint how the game is played!


	9. Chapter 9

Spike wondered through the haze of desire that surrounded him where the young Slayer had learned the incredible moves she seemed to be coming up with so quickly. Oh, he had taunted her, tried to insinuate that she was easy, a slut, with too much experience for her own good. But he knew that in reality, Buffy was anything but that.

Angelus had made no secret of the fact – in fact, had considered it a matter of pride for him – that he had been the first for the innocent, virginal girl that the Slayer had been at the time. And as the Slayer had foolishly tried to keep up that doomed relationship, until the point when the Great Poof had left town over the summer – well, Spike was no fool.

He had enough experience in relationships and reading people to know that the college boy who had recently deceived and hurt her had been nothing more than a rebound weakness from the pain of Angel's leaving. He highly doubted that the Slayer had any sexual experience at all beyond those two clueless wankers – and those experiences had clearly been less than confidence-inspiring.

So where in the bleedin' hell was this coming from?

The Slayer had stunned him by taking charge the way she had, grabbing him and throwing him down on the bed, forceful and confident in a way he had never imagined that she could be. Of course, she was under the mistaken impression that he was completely under her power already, and could not resist her if he tried.

That alone would inspire extra confidence in most people.

But there was a primal grace in her every move, a sense of power that seemed to go beyond either of them personally, to something deeper, some inherent part of her nature that she had probably not known even existed before today.

His demon recognized the power that was not Buffy's alone, but had belonged to every Slayer before him, as the predator pinned her prey down beneath her, and he realized that his situation was far more dangerous than he had previously thought. It was a powerful, breathtaking, terrifying sensation, that loss of control…

And also exciting, arousing, intense…

Spike knew that he should be focusing on getting the victory in this little match. This was his chance to get back the upper hand, to make the Slayer finally see once and for all that he was no one to be trifled with. He could show her that she was not the only one with inherent, natural power.

And yet -- all he could think about was the silken touch of her skin against his, as her hands moved slowly up and down his body, intensifying his need with every expert touch, as she slid her body slowly up and down on his, easing him deeper inside her, and then rising up off of him, over and over again in an act of blissful torture.

Okay -- get it together, Spike! he told himself warningly, trying to make his thoughts make sense above the roaring in his ears and the powerful sensations coursing through his body. You've got to do this…you've only got one chance to -- gah!

A rush of desperate desire went through him as the Slayer's soft lips against his throat turned to tiny sharp teeth, nipping lightly at his sensitive skin in a gesture that should have been playful – though instinct told him it was anything but.

She raised up to look him in the eye through narrowed, desire-darkened eyes that shone with a predatory light. The look sent a shiver of fear down his spine, knowing that he was at her mercy in ways that a master vampire should never allow himself to be at the mercy of a Slayer – at the same time intensifying the need that he felt for her, making him long to possess her as his own, to tame this wild creature that was so dangerously near to taming him.

Right, then…come on now, mate…get it together… he told himself urgently, knowing that if he did not get back control quickly, he would never get it back at all.

He caught both of them off guard when he suddenly flipped them over so that he was on top of her, leaning down to tenderly kiss her shoulder, his hands sliding around in front of her, one lightly caressing her left breast, as the other slid down between them to where their bodies joined, his lips edging nearer to her throat.

There was no mistaking the menacing growl that came from the Slayer's throat, that sent chills down his spine even as he wondered at its source. He had never heard a human girl make a sound like that in all his life and unlife, and it stopped him short – that, and the warning, calculating look in emerald green eyes, as one powerful hand shot up to lock around his wrist, stilling his motion over her breast.

Don't let her see…gotta get control…come on, Spike, you can do this… he told himself, his mouth suddenly dry with a mixture of emotions that he could not have defined by this point if he had tried, as he raised his head and looked down at her, thinking fast. Had to keep the small advantage he had managed to gain.

"Buffy," he whispered. "Please…I can make this so good for you, Buffy…"

As he spoke, the hand she had not stopped went to work on the most sensitive part of her body, and the Slayer let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure, her head rolling back slightly in spite of her determination to keep the upper hand in this little game.

He smiled to himself for a moment, wiping it from his face in an instant when her eyes opened again and she looked back up at him, clearly struggling to keep control herself. He kept his eyes wide and seeking, and thought to himself as he uttered them that his next words were pure bloody genius.

"Let me please you, Buffy…please…I can make you feel so good…"

The Slayer could not resist the invitation of his words, in combination with his expert touch, and she relaxed with a little moan, pressing his hand back against her breast and releasing his wrist, her hands running up and down his back as he went to work on her long-neglected body.

"Buffy," he whispered, lowering his lips to her throat, suppressing a smile.

Instantly, one of her hands went to his head, fisting in his hair and yanking his head back hard, as she snarled in a hoarse whisper, "No!"

So the Slayer was not quite as lost to the feeling as she appeared, he realized.

Not yet.

She was wise enough not to allow her vampire lover to get that near to her throat. Even in her passion, she maintained enough caution to prevent him the possibility of biting her.

No matter, he thought with a smile and shrug that he kept only in his mind for the moment. Soon enough I'll have her throwing caution to the wind…and then, she'll be mine!

He moved his lips to her mouth instead, gently pressing his tongue to her lips, begging entrance which she swiftly allowed, his fingers working with gradually building intensity around her sensitive breast and sodden, aching center, still filled with him. The combined sensation of his fingers and his body inside her was almost more than she could take, and the Slayer through back her head with a strangled little cry of mingled need and the satisfaction of it.

"God…" she whispered. "Spike…touch me…so good…" she gasped.

He allowed himself a smile that she couldn't see, with her eyes closed as they were, knowing that he was very close to the victory he was seeking. A few more minutes under his hand, and she would forget all about her previous caution. She would be his for the taking.

"Buffy," he whispered, lowering his head slightly, edging nearer to her throat. "Sweet, pretty Buffy…"

She gasped. "Spike," she whispered. "Yes…yes…Spike…"

He stared at her, wide-eyed, drinking in the sight of her red, trembling lips – her expression of utter ecstasy. God, he wanted her so bad! He had not even realized how badly he wanted her. He had known for a long time now that he was attracted to the girl, and she to him, but never had he thought that it could ever go beyond that.

Now, the thought of what he was about to do, the thought of making the Slayer his for the rest of her life – in combination with the sheer desperation of need she was expressing for him – she wanted him, too – made him long for her, long to make her his and no one else's – for the rest of her life.

She was beautiful, and powerful, and utterly amazing, as he took in every contour of her face, her body beneath him – and soon…she would be his.

She was so close to the edge now, he knew she was about to reach her peak – and when she went tumbling over the edge, he would seize that moment of weakness and use it to make the Slayer his own.

He thrust slowly inside her, moving in rhythm with the motion of his hand, removing his hand from her breast and daring to place it behind her head, pulling her up into a kiss. He kissed her deeply, intensely, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her body under and around him.

"Buffy," he whispered against her lips, his voice low and hoarse with need. "Buffy, love…"

"God! Spike…" she replied in a breathy whisper, as his lips slid down from her mouth, down toward her throat again – and she did not object.

Her body slowly rocked with his, her arms sliding slowly over his back, his buttocks, pulling him closer to her, edging nearer to the fulfillment of her need, as his mouth edged nearer to the fulfillment of his desire. She didn't seem to notice as his lips slowly parted over the throbbing vein in her throat, pulsing rapidly with her accelerated heartbeat.

Cautiously, he sucked gently at her neck for a moment, savoring the sensation as her hot, rich blood rose to the surface under her mouth. He waited a moment, wondering if she would react, would stop him – but her only reaction was to moan softly in pleasure at the sensation.

"Buffy," he whispered against her throat, his words coming out in a rhythmic chant with the motion of their bodies together. "Want you so bad….gonna make you feel so good, Buffy…gonna make you…make you…" His voice lowered as he parted his lips, his fangs exposed, though her eyes were closed, in the throes of her passion.

"Mine!" he growled possessively, without warning, sinking his fangs into her throat, drawing her blood from her body, the powerful taste and sensation nearly bringing about his own orgasm instantly.

Buffy drew in a sharp gasp for breath that was of sheer pleasure at the sharp unexpected shock of sensation – followed by a soft moan, as she felt the blood being pulled from her body.

And then – the powerful feeling of pleasure was followed by – panic, overwhelming fear as she realized that Spike had not been under her control completely. He had somehow managed to fool her, managed to make her think that it was safe – and now, he was turning the tables on her. She fought to think through the fear that was her first instinctive reaction to what was happening.

Her next reaction was quite different.

A savage, primal fury filled her as the Slayer within her reacted to what was happening. This creature that she had already claimed as her own, if not completely, daring to drink from her so freely, to defy and attack her in this way – an overwhelming rage overcame her at the thought.

She could not let this happen.

Her eyes narrowed on a calculating smile. She knew exactly what to do.

An instant later, Spike let out a cry of mingled pleasure and pain -- as without warning the internal muscles of the Slayer's tight, hot channel contracted around his swollen erection, hard, clutching him in a merciless grip that was both intensely pleasurable, and agonizingly painful.

He couldn't move an inch – couldn't pull away, couldn't thrust deeper into her – he was held helpless in the viselike grip of the Slayer's body. He realized that he had been found out, and the Slayer was struggling to overpower him, and only drove his fangs in deeper to her throat.

Had to draw…just a little more…weaken her, so she couldn't….

Her hand rose again to grip his hair, trying to pull his head back again, but he hung on with all the strength he could find within him. Then, she clenched her body around him again, at the same moment yanking back hard on his hair, and in the moment that his grip relaxed with the intensified pain and pleasure sensation that shot through his body, she jerked his head back hard, pulling his fangs out of her throat.

He stared wide-eyed, gasping for breath, into narrowed, feral green eyes glittering with anger and desire. With a calculating little smile, she contracted her body around him again, her smile deepening when he could not hold back a soft moan at the strange exquisite agony that shot through his body, his head falling back into her hand, unresisting, for a moment at the sensation.

When he opened his eyes and looked at her again, she had reversed their positions, and was once again on top of him, her body still holding him fast and pinning him down to the mattress.

"You want to claim me, vampire?" she whispered, and her voice had a sharp edge to it that made him shudder at the sound. Her oddly glittering eyes searched his, a cool smile playing about her lips.

He could not respond – could not find words. The game was lost -- he was lost – in the power of the sensations she was making him feel.

She leaned her face down close to his, her smile fading to a hard line, as she said in a low voice of power, "No. I reject your claim, Spike. No!"

She paused before she spoke again. "You are mine," she said in a voice of quiet certainty, her lips inches from his. "Mine…say it…"

Even through the overwhelming sensations that filled his body, that drove him further and further out of control, Spike knew that he could not give in to that command. "No," he whispered, gasping for breath as she tightened her body around him again. "No!" he still insisted.

And what she did next stunned the girl, but not the Slayer, who knew the profound shift of power that was taking place in that moment, and knew what she had to do to make it take place.

Buffy's hand gripped his hair, yanking his head back and baring his throat to her, and her mouth fell on his throat, strong, blunt teeth clamping onto his sensitive skin with bruising force. He gasped at the pain and shock of it, his hand rising to try to pull her back, but pulled back down and pinned to the mattress as she only bit down harder, harder, until she broke his skin.

She pulled back suddenly, and his eyes widened in shock at the sight of her lips, stained red with his blood. "Mine!" she insisted in a possessive growl of menace, some powerful force in her eyes making him look away.

"No," he repeated, but his voice was weaker – less certain.

Once again her mouth fell to his throat, and he cried out as she began to draw his blood into her mouth, sucking hard and filling her mouth with the warm, coppery fluid that he had just drawn from her own body. The rush of being drank from was something that he had not felt in years, and the feeling overwhelmed him, sending his senses spinning around him and his thoughts fleeing his mind.

When she raised her head again, he was awestruck at the wild power in her expression as she met his eyes fiercely. "Mine!" she snarled again, jerking his head back as she did to emphasize the word.

He could not speak; simply looked away, refusing to give in to her. He couldn't…he just…he couldn't…

She studied his face for a long moment – and her next words left him breathless.

"I've never wanted anyone like I want you, Spike," she informed him in a voice of quiet intensity, her eyes blazing with need and determination. "And you will be mine!"

With those startling words, she sank her teeth into his flesh again, harder than ever, and he felt the rush of painful pleasure at the words and the contact shooting through his body, driving him to the edge of his orgasm. He fought to maintain control, to hold back, a soft moan escaping his lips nonetheless, but she only bit down harder, growling against his skin, "Mine…mine…mine…"

Finally, the explosion hit him, and he lost control completely, lost in the blinding release of his orgasm, which spiraled into hers, bringing her to completion as well, as he threw back his head and gasped out in a soft whisper, "Yours…yours, Buffy…yours…" as without his knowledge his face slowly shifted back to his angelic human form.

And the Slayer and the vampire collapsed together onto the bed, each spent with the power of the fulfillment of their passionate need.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy woke up suddenly in the dim stillness of the quiet room, wondering momentarily in her groggy, sleep-addled state at the odd but comfortable form of a body, lying beside her – no, halfway under her – on the bed.

Wait – what bed?

Where was she? She opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times as her eyes adjusted to the faint remaining light from the few dying candles that still glowed around the room. They had been new when she had arrived here – for some strange reason she remembered that much.

She glanced sleepily around the room for a moment before she remembered the much more important fact of where she was. Oh, yeah, she recalled. The mansion.

She wondered how much time had passed since she had fallen asleep. She wore no watch, and there were no clocks – no electricity – in the old mansion. When she had arrived here with Spike, it had been just a few minutes before eight o'clock, and she knew that the fight had taken a long time.

Not to mention what came after the fight.

Buffy's eyes widened as she turned her head and gradually focused on the strangely peaceful face of the breathtaking creature sleeping beside her. She wondered that she had never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous he was.

Oh, she had been attracted to him; there had been no denying that, no matter how hard she had tried. But the words that had always come to her mind to describe Spike had been more along the lines of "annoying" or "infuriating", and it times when she was more honest with herself, "exciting" or "sexy".

Now, the only word that kept reverberating through her mind was "beautiful".

Her pensive musings came to an abrupt halt as her eyes fell on the dark, bruised spot surrounded the place where her teeth had broken the skin of Spike's throat, standing out with glaring clarity on the background of his pale, flawless skin – the mark that she had left there. Unconsciously her fingers rose to touch the tiny puncture wounds, almost healed now, that he had left on her own throat.

Slayer healing had caused them to close up and almost disappear completely, though she knew from experience that she would probably always bear the scar. Still, she knew that the actual injury would be totally gone very soon. She wondered why the wound she had left on Spike's neck was not healing as quickly, as it should have been due to his own accelerated healing.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had won.

I won!

The thought hit her with startling clarity, in a rush of sudden exultation, as a slow smile spread across her face at the realization. It had been quite a challenge, and she had almost lost several times. Spike had managed to deceive her into believing that the challenge was won before it actually was, and she had nearly allowed him to defeat her – to claim her. But at the very last moment, just before it was too late, she had managed to regain control.

She had won.

And the gorgeous, flawless creature on the bed beside her, the one she found herself desperately wanting even now, was her prize.

Her mind raced – and her heart was not far behind – at the memories of all that had happened during the previous hours between her and the vampire she had taken as her own. She had done things that night that she had not even known were possible until that night – and that she would not have ever considered actually attempting, had she known.

What came over me? she wondered, her face coloring with an odd mixture of mild shame – and fresh arousal. What ever possessed me to make me do – those things?

A part of her was aghast at the daring, sexually aggressive manner in which she had behaved, taking control and taking what she wanted from Spike, who had fortunately turned out to be a very willing partner in the whole affair – aside from the whole "submission to Buffy" thing.

But the greater part of her felt a surge of pride at the revelation of the power she had not known she possessed – the primal instinct that seemed to have taken over and guided her actions of the night before. Buffy had been sure at the beginning of the night that she had no idea how to go about the whole "domination" thing.

Yet, on some deeper level, some basic part of her had known exactly what to do.

She had somehow managed to delve into the natural, inherent power that was a part of her as the Slayer, and she had used it to bring the dangerous, wild creature that she had never been able to tame or defeat, into her control. She had not consciously thought about the things she had done; they had just felt right at the time. She had just somehow known what she had to do to accomplish her goal. Her eyes widened, her expression sober.

She had bitten him.

She, the vampire Slayer, had bitten a vampire. How had she known to do that? How had she known that that was the action that would bring about his submission? And why had that act been what had finally overwhelmed him to the point of giving in?

And why did she want to do it again?

One little worry kept nagging at her, however, about the way that things had happened. Anya had told her that the sex between her and Spike was supposed to be symbolic, an act to signify that he had already submitted to her. And when she initiated it, she had believed that to be true.

But she had found in the middle of the act itself that he had never really submitted to her at all – not at that point – when he had attempted to claim her as his own. He had only submitted to her when she had forcefully overpowered him, delivering a claiming bite and demanding his acceptance of her claim, in the midst of their union, at the very last possible moment.

She wondered what sort of effect, if any, that might have on the results of the ritual.

She would have to talk to Anya about what had happened later. Anya was not exactly the revered scholar of the group, but she was an ex-demon with centuries of experience and knowledge in matters of this nature, and she would probably know more about it than Buffy did, that much was for sure.

Besides – there was no way in the world that she was going to talk to Giles about this!

The thought of her Watcher reminded her suddenly that her friends were probably in a state of panic by this point, worrying about her. They had know way of knowing – thankfully – just how everything had turned out. All they knew was that the ritual involved her fighting Spike, while his chip was out of operation, and he was able to hurt her. She had been alone with him, in this old mansion, for hours, with no one to help her should he manage to get the upper hand.

She had given them strict orders that they were not to come near the mansion, and Anya had sworn that she would make sure those orders were obeyed. Buffy did not want her friends coming to "rescue" her and being accidentally scarred for life by the revelation of the ritual's true nature, and all that it entailed.

She had promised to call each and every one of them and let them know she was all right as soon as the ritual was complete, but she had not counted on the apparently mystically induced heavy sleep that had come upon both her and Spike upon the completion of the ritual.

Anya had forgotten to mention that part.

And now, she had no idea what time it was, how late it had gotten while she had been dead to the world. But however late it was – she was sure that her friends would still be awake.

It was a wonder to her that they had not turned up here anyway, regardless of her orders, if it was anywhere near as late as she thought it was.

She had to find a phone.

She climbed carefully off the bed, feeling the oddly affectionate desire not to disturb Spike, smiling softly at him as she rose to her feet, staring down at him for a few moments longer.

God, he's gorgeous! she thought again with a tenderness that was startling to her.

She was amazed at the strange new emotions she was feeling for him now, after the ritual. She had expected nothing more than a sense of power, at knowing that he was under her control, and satisfaction, at being able to finally stop his constant annoyances any time she felt like it.

What she had not expected was the powerful feeling of possessive affection – the thrill and joy of knowing that he was hers, and the need to protect – and the desire that was at an almost desperate level now, far greater than it had been before the ritual.

Just another thing that she would need to ask Anya about.

Silently, she made her way into the next room, where she had left her jacket, and her cell phone in the pocket. She pulled it out, fumbling a bit in the darkness, until she managed to push a button and get a bit of light. She was relieved to see that it was only a little after midnight.

She quickly dialed Giles' number, and waited as it rang – only once.

"Buffy?" his urgent voice greeted her before she said a word.

"It's me," she whispered. "I'm okay."

"Oh, thank heaven!" Giles breathed out the words, his relief obvious. "I've been worried sick, Buffy. So – everything went as planned? Spike is – no longer a problem?"

"Um…yeah," she replied, glancing nervously toward the bedroom door. "No problems here. He's all tame vamp now. Completely under control. I mean, I guess so," she amended with a thoughtful little frown. She was really speaking on assumption, as Spike had not yet awakened. "He's still asleep."

"Good." Giles paused for a moment before adding, in a slightly different tone, "Asleep?"

Buffy covered her mouth, her eyes widening in horror at her own slip. "Yeah, um…I knocked him out. Out cold. Like a light," she explained quickly, cringing at her own weak, awkward wording, thankful that Giles could not see her face, and hoping that he did not notice how nervous she was.

"Oh. Very well then," Giles replied, and she was relieved that he seemed to accept her words without hesitation. "So – what exactly are you planning on doing with him? Tonight?"

"What?" Buffy demanded in a tone of shock. Was her guilt that obvious? What, did she somehow sound like a slut now?

"Are you going to leave him there in the mansion? Or bring him back here?" Giles clarified, in a slow, careful tone that one might use with a not-particularly-bright child. "Because I think it's probably wise not to leave him alone. Not until we're completely sure that everything has worked out as we expected."

"Oh," Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as understanding dawned on her. So she wasn't caught.

Yet.

"Oh, it's cool. I brought chains," she replied carelessly, suppressing a giggle at the knowledge of where those chains were and for what use she had intended them. If Giles only knew…

Thankfully – he didn't. "Oh. Good, then. So you can chain him up there and come back for him in the morning? Because I really think we should meet Buffy. To discuss your experience and any possible ramifications. And I think you should bring Spike with you. So we can all see the results of your triumph."

Buffy had absolutely no intention of "discussing her experience" with Giles or anyone else – except maybe Anya. And as for the results of her triumph – the naked, sleeping vampire in the next room with a big, glaring bite mark on his neck – she wasn't so sure she wanted to share that with the others just yet either.

In fact – she was pretty sure she didn't want to share at all.

Ever.

None of which thoughts she could express to Giles. "Okay," she agreed half-heartedly. "I'm really tired, Giles. I'm just gonna go to bed. Home! And to bed," she clarified quickly. "Would you mind calling the others so they don't freak?"

"Of course, Buffy. Good night," Giles said, in a voice of fatherly affection. "I'm – I'm quite glad you're safe."

Buffy smiled into the phone in spite of herself and her anxieties over Giles and his reactions, once any small part of the truth came out – which it inevitably would.

"Thanks," she said softly, just before she clicked the phone shut, and put it back into her pocket.

If Giles only knew that she intended to spend the night right here, with Spike, in the very same bed – she knew that he would not be nearly so affectionate, or fatherly, or pleased. She envisioned loud British curse words and threats the likes of which she had only ever heard from Spike before – never Giles.

She shuddered as she walked back through the doorway into the bedroom. It was a good thing he did not know the truth – and hopefully never would. She would have to get with Anya and try to figure out just how much of the story to reveal to the guys, and how much to keep secret. And she would have to do it before the meeting tomorrow, because she would have to make sure Spike knew what story to stick to.

She glanced toward the bed with a small smile at the thought of him, wondering if he was awake yet.

And then the smile froze on her face, her eyes widening in surprise – at the sight of the empty bed. She glanced around the dimly lit bedroom – and saw no sign of him. Had he somehow managed to slip past her while she was occupied on the phone with Giles? The only light in the house at the moment was in the bedroom; the living room was dark. It would have been easy for him to slip by her in the darkness.

Had he? Had he left her here? Did he want to get away from her?

She was surprised at the hurt feeling that filled her at those thoughts – and then, by the primal, possessive anger that followed it. She looked around the room carefully for a moment, determining for sure that he was not there, before stepping back out into the living room.

She did not call for him; she knew that he would likely not answer. She slowly peered around the room into the darkness, but could see nothing at all. She did not have the enhanced senses of a vampire.

She did, however, have some other sense, that she had not heretofore possessed. Somehow, she just knew -- he was not here. He had left the mansion. She followed the urge that drove her to the front door, looking out into the cool stillness of the night with narrowed, calculating eyes.

Leave her, would he?

No. He would not.

Following the deepest instinct that she possessed, that drove her to find what was hers and bring him back, reclaim him as her own, the Slayer became a predator once more, as she slipped out the front door of the mansion and into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

The soft sound of the Slayer's voice in the next room drew Spike slowly from his sleep, calling to him in some way that went beyond her words, a pull that he could not even begin to explain, in his drowsy state of half-wakefulness. He frowned in irritation before he even opened his eyes. The infuriating bint couldn't even let him catch a decent nap without somehow interrupting it.

There was not a problem in his whole soddin' life that he couldn't trace back to the bloody Slayer!

His fallout with Dru, the bloody chip in his head, the painful wound on his throat…

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, wide with shock as the memory of the past hours came flooding back to fill his mind. A sense of rising horror came over him as he remembered – the Slayer's hands, her mouth, her body, urging him closer and closer to the dangerous edge of his control, until finally, she had managed to push him over.

He could still hear her possessive, enticing growl in his ear, Mine!

And he had responded.

Bloody hell!

He rose quickly from the bed, his mouth suddenly dry with a fear bordering on panic, as he stood there for a moment, listening to the Slayer's hushed phone conversation in the next room. Her voice was soft and low; apparently she was keeping her voice down in an attempt not to wake him.

She had forgotten to take into account his acute vampire senses.

It sounded as if she was talking to her Watcher, from her nervous, vague explanations, and the tone of her voice that sounded like a little girl about to be punished. As he heard her explain – leaving out certain choice details – how she had managed to subdue him, he felt his anger rising. When he heard her lie to Giles, telling him that she had "knocked him out cold", his indignation became overwhelming, overpowering his fear completely.

Lying little chit! he thought resentfully. She never even came close to beating me in a fair fight! She never would've gotten the upper hand at all if she hadn't tricked me – distracted me – why if she hadn't have made me lose my focus like she did, I'd have never given in to her, never have said…

The thought cut off, his eyes widening, and he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath as reality hit him – hard. The reasons why he had done it did not matter. The fact remained that she had stated her claim – and he had accepted it.

Occurring in the very midst of a dominance challenge as it had, he had no idea what sort of effect this particular claim might have. But regardless of whether his single whispered, "yours" had been in response to her challenge or her claim – or both – one thing was certain in his mind, beyond all doubt.

He was utterly and completely, totally and thoroughly buggered beyond all help.

Anger gave way to fear again, as his mind raced with the possible ramifications of what they had done. He had the distinct feeling that whatever it was, it went far beyond "just" a dominance ritual, or "just" a claim – but was something different, some odd mystical combination of the two, the effects of which were still unknown to them both.

But he did not intend to stick around long enough to find out what those effects might be.

The Slayer was still talking in the next room. Silently, he slipped into his clothes from the night before, and cautiously approached the doorway. He could clearly see her, despite the darkness, standing with her back to him, talking softly into her cell phone. She did not notice as he made his way silently past her along the wall, toward the door.

Her eyes were nowhere near as good as his in the dark, and the room was pitch blak except for the faint glow from her cell phone, which did nothing to reveal him to her eyes, clothed all in black as he was, as he edged toward the door, and his escape.

Once he reached the door, he found that he had a new problem. He could not open it and leave without drawing her attention – not while she was standing so near to the door. He waited, breathless, for some chance or opportunity to escape unnoticed, listening to the last bit of her conversation as he did.

His eyes, fully adjusted to the darkness that was their natural element, could see her clearly, though he knew that she still had no idea he was there. Subtle movements of her body here and there, slight nuances of her voice, brought back vivid memories of the night before. Almost against his will, he found himself wanting her again.

He wondered with a sort of sadness, and a fear that went beyond physical pain, to some deep emotional insecurity that had followed him throughout his life and unlife, if she had any idea at all the magnitude of what she had done. The truth was – he didn't either, not really. She had claimed him, yes – but in the midst of the dominance ritual. He did not really know what that meant; all he knew for certain was one thing.

She had denied his claim.

He had always been more one for action than for study, and most of what he knew about vampire customs and laws was from his years as a fledgling with his "family".

Once, he had dared to claim Dru, against the wishes of Angelus. She had just giggled and wagged a finger at him as she told him that he was "naughty" and she was only her "daddy's girl". When Angelus had confronted him about the claim, emphasizing with brutality and cruelty that both he and Dru were his and his alone, Spike had defiantly declared that it was too late. He had already claimed Dru, and there was nothing Angelus could do to change that.

Angelus had mocked his "ignorance", telling him that, unreciprocated, his claim was meaningless, and Dru was no more his than she had been before he had claimed her. He had then proceeded to viciously punish his childe's defiance, and Spike was left believing that Dru's rejection had made his act of love and devotion meaningless.

And believing that Buffy's rejection now had done the same.

But that did not make Angelus' lies true – and it did not make his claim any less valid – then, or now. True, an unreciprocated claim would fade with time, if not returned, and in the end would be of little effect. But that did not make it any less real or powerful, at the time it was made.

But he had no way of knowing that.

As he listened to Buffy tell her Watcher of her plans to leave him here at the mansion, to chain him up and go home for the rest of the night, his hurt was almost a physical pain, though he did not know why. It wasn't as if he was in love with the bloody bint! Yes, he had wanted her, and attempted to claim her in an impulse of desire the night before. But that did not mean that she really meant anything to him – or that he should expect to mean anything to her.

So why did her rejection of his claim, followed by her apparent unconcern about the claim she had made, hurt him so badly?

So she thought she could just do something as important as claiming him, and then just chain him up and leave him like it meant nothing, did she? Well, he was not going to stick around for that! Not bloody likely!

He waited until Buffy disconnected her phone call and walked back into the bedroom, still completely unaware of his presence in the room with her, and then took the brief chance that might be his only one, as he slipped out the door into the night.

He stopped for a moment, just outside the door, feeling the strange compulsion to go back. It might have been his imagination, but the sore spot on his neck where Buffy had bit him seemed to throb for a moment as he made his decision and stepped onto the sidewalk, heading deliberately away from the mansion.

Claim or no claim, he was not going to allow the Slayer to control him.

She couldn't control him if she couldn't bloody find him, now could she?

It was time for Spike to leave Sunnyhell behind, once and for all.

As he made his way through the deserted residential streets of the little town, heading toward downtown Sunnydale and, hopefully, some unattended vehicle that he could nick, he tried to ignore his growing unease, the unexplainable desire he felt to go back – back to the Slayer who had claimed him and rejected him in the same night, who wanted to own him, but to be able to cast him aside as she chose.

No, he told himself firmly as he moved through the back alleys of the business district, keeping his eyes open for some convenient means of leaving town. Keep going. Fight it, mate…don't let her…

He was so lost in his thoughts, his inner struggle, that he did not sense her presence, did not know she was there, until a powerful hand gripped his arm from behind, slinging him back against the wall with breathtaking force. An instant later, he felt the heat of her body, pressed in close to his, pinning him between her and the wall.

He was not surprised by the defiance that rose up in him in response to her rough, possessive manhandling; or the tingle of fear that went through him at the anger he felt radiating off of her, her rage at his rebellion.

He was surprised by the sense of relief that came over him unexpectedly in spite of the other emotions – as if he had been lost, and had suddenly found the way home.

The Slayer's small hands trailed up his arms to rest just below his shoulders, holding him there against the wall with a strength that was a bit frightening, though he knew that he would be able to break her grip if he tried. Judging by the time frame she had given him earlier, his chip should still be non-functioning; he could defend himself against her if he wanted to.

What was most frightening was that he didn't really want to.

Her brilliant emerald eyes were glittering with a dangerous light as she leaned in close to him, her voice a soft, husky murmur as she asked, "Going somewhere?"

He returned her gaze boldly with a defiant smirk as he replied, "Doesn't appear so, does it?" He glanced down derisively at her hands on his arms, one of which was slowly sliding upward toward his shoulder, trying not to show how deeply her nearness, her touch, affected him.

"Did you want something, Slayer? Cause I'm actually in a bit of a hu – uunngghh!"

The light – if forced – mockery in his tone was swallowed up in a moan of sensation, indistinguishable as pleasure or pain – an exquisite, terrible mix of the two – as her hand found the tender, bruised spot where she had marked him earlier, and her thumb pressed down hard into the sensitive flesh.

He felt his legs weaken beneath him, as flashes of colored light fell before his eyes. He closed them, and leaned his head back against the wall, gasping for breath as she moved in closer, her body pressed against and partially supporting his, as her other hand rose to the back of his neck, tilting his head slightly back to further expose her mark to her touch.

"Yes," she whispered. "I want something, Spike." As she spoke, she swiveled her hips slowly against his swiftly hardening erection, and his eyes opened wide with shock, staring into a strangely soft smile that was somehow both gentle and predatory at the same time.

Eyes darkened to jade with her lust for him bored into his until he had to look away, as she leaned in closer, her words a whisper of hot breath against his ear. "You."

She pressed harder in a slow circular motion on the spot where she had claimed him, at the same time rotating her hips slowly against him again – and he was not sure which touch was more powerful in eliciting the soft, desperate cry that rose from his lips as she went on, "And you're already mine."

No. He was sure. He had never felt anything to compare with the power of her touch on the symbol of her claim. The sensation of that simple touch was both an intense pleasure beyond anything he had ever felt, and an agony that was more than he could bear, bringing him to a point where all he could do was whisper a soft plea of desperation.

"Please…Buffy…please," he whimpered, all rational thought, his determination to escape, vanished under the power of her touch, his body trembling with sudden, overwhelming need.

He did not know if he was begging her to stop – or not to stop.

"Buffy," he gasped. "God! Please…"

She ignored his words, her hand, her body, still working to drive him to greater desperation, her lips falling from the place just below his ear where they had spoken, down along his throat, on the opposite side of the mark.

She pulled up to look him in the eye with an expression of terrifying promise, as she whispered, "You shouldn't have left."

He did not reply, as her mouth lowered to his throat again, working slowly around, covering his skin with soft, hot kisses, her teeth closing lightly over the spot just above his jugular for just a moment, making him gasp at the silently dominant gesture, before she moved on around, her mouth a bare inch from the mark on his throat.

Suddenly, she removed her hand from the bite, raising it instead to grip his hair and pull his head back, making the spot vulnerable to her mouth, hovering over it, so close that her warm breath caressed the wound, the feeling driving him to a frenzied fever of desire.

Smoldering eyes of jade flame met his in a relentless demand, as she said in a voice that came out as a soft snarl, "Mine!"

He did not know if the expected answer would prevent or encourage the response from her that he both dreaded and craved; all he knew was that he could do nothing but respond.

"Yours," he whispered, a desperate ache of need in his hoarse voice. "Yes – yours, Buffy – please…"

With a savage, primal growl of possession, she sank her teeth into his throat again, and he felt his legs give out under him as the powerful sensation engulfed him, pleasure so terrible and pain so sweet that he was lost in it, drowning in it, as the rest of the world went swirling away into darkness, and he felt himself sinking, sinking down into the depths of his own need, overwhelmed by the power of what was taking place.

As the unconscious vampire slumped down against the wall, half-supported in her arms, the Slayer drew back in surprise – and a bit of alarm. She had not meant to overwhelm him so completely. She still had a lot to learn about the claim she had made, the power and effects of it that she had not expected.

Her eyes narrowed over a small, sly smile as she looked at the collapsed from between her and the wall, contemplating.

He still had a lot to learn about her, too.

Spike was awakened a short time later by the sweet taste and soft sensation of the Slayer's kiss, her warm, moist tongue sliding over his teeth, caressing his mouth as she slowly pulled back, the moment he became aware enough to respond.

He tried to follow her as she pulled back, but found his progress impeded – tried to raise up off the soft surface he was lying on – the bed? – but found that he could not get any leverage to move. In fact – he couldn't move at all.

What the bleedin…?

He opened his eyes, glancing around quickly to see with dismay that he was indeed back in the mansion, on the very bed where Buffy had claimed him.

And he was chained to it.

His wrists and ankles were fastened tightly to the four posts of the bed, so that he could barely move at all. He pulled slightly against them, instinctively testing the bonds that restrained him, and finding that they were indeed strong enough to hold him.

A soft, throaty chuckle drew his attention to the Slayer, standing at his side and very near. Her voice was soft with amusement and a strange affection, her lips turned up in a playful little smile as she said in a voice of quiet triumph that sent shivers down his spine, "You're not going anywhere."

He looked up at her as she turned her back to him, sauntering slowly toward the foot of the bed. "Buffy," he whispered, hating the slight tremor of uncertainty he heard in his own voice as he spoke. "What...?"

His voice trailed off as she turned to face him again, and he saw that the soft little smile had become a calculating smirk. His mouth went dry and his eyes wide as he stared at her, unable to hide his reaction to the seductive and terrifying image that she had become.

She stood at the foot of the bed, facing him, still fully clothed in her tight-fitting black top; short, tight red leather skirt, and high black boots. She might as well have been naked, for the effect she had on him. Bloody hell, but she was stunning! A frightening, amazing, enticing vision of power and desire.

Her eyes met his for a moment, then darted down to something in her hands before meeting his eyes again, her eyebrows raised in a question. He managed to somehow tear his eyes away from hers for long enough to look to see what she was holding -- and his jaw dropped and his eyes widened when he saw the object that she was lovingly caressing, sliding through her fingers slowly and seductively.

It was a black leather belt.

His black leather belt.

He looked down again and realized with a little thrill of fear and excitement -- he was absolutely, completely naked. Chained to the bed, at her mercy, utterly vulnerable to every whim of the Slayer he had defied. He knew that he should feel nothing but terror -- and that emotion was definitely present, there was no denying that -- but the intoxicating scent of the Slayer's arousal filled the air around him, and the look in her eyes promised him that if he could handle what she intended to dish out -- the pleasure she would reward him with would be worth it.

If he could handle it.

Mingled with the arousal, beneath the tiny smirk that ghosted about her lips, was a smoldering anger, an outrage at his defiance, in daring to flee her. The realization made his blood run cold, and yet flow as fire through his veins at the same time.

The Slayer was pissed.

"Buffy," he whispered, meeting her eyes, forcing himself not to look away from the blazing power of her fury and desire. "Buffy -- love..."

In an instant she was at his side, one hand fisting in his hair to yank his head back, baring his throat to her threateningly, as she leaned down close to his face with a cool smile to say softly, "Shut up."

He was wise enough to obey, but held her gaze boldly, knowing that he could give her no less and retain any shred of his dignity -- and that if he did give her any less, she would cease to desire him as she did now. He was hers to punish, hers to break -- but if he allowed the latter, he would not be worthy of her.

And he knew that really, despite her bold, menacing show -- she did not want that, either.

It was, however, quite a convincing show.

She lowered her head so that her lips were inches from his, meeting his eyes for a moment before capturing his mouth in a forceful, bruising kiss that had him hard and longing for her again in moments. As she kissed him, her free hand moved down his body, playing lightly about his swollen member in a torturously enticing way.

She broke the kiss, smiling into his eyes -- and suddenly gripped his erection in a strong, powerful hand, just on the border between pain and pleasure. And as he stared into her wild, lustful eyes, saw the sweet and cruel intentions there -- he knew that, pain or pleasure, he was lost to her.

Her soft words next to his ear spoke both his reward and his doom as she reaffirmed and emphasized in a whisper the words she had spoken in the alley.

"You really shouldn't have left."


	12. Chapter 12

Bloody hell! Spike thought as the Slayer released him, standing up straight again over his chained, helpless form. Where did the Slayer learn to act this way? Not from the bleedin' poof, that's for bloody sure! He was all soulful and virtuous until after the fact! Not from her little college boy – that little wanker lacked imagination, could tell just by listening to him – so how in the bleedin' -- gah!

While he had been lost in his thoughtful reverie on the past, he had not been paying attention to the Slayer, and she had suddenly looped the leather belt around the base of his aching erection, yanking it tight with a sharp tug that jerked him painfully back to the present.

Bye-bye, thoughtful reverie.

"I was talking." Buffy's voice was calm, gently reproving in contrast to her merciless actions, as she leaned down over him to look him in the eye with a smirk, her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Were you listening?"

The second question, innocent in its tone, was not-so-innocently accompanied by another quick little tug on the belt that made him gasp, biting back a whimper that he knew she would see as disobedience to her earlier command to "shut up".

And disobedience did not sound like such a good idea at the moment.

But she had asked him a question. Had he been listening? He almost nodded automatically. But that would lead to the next logical question – what had she said? And he hadn't the faintest soddin' clue. He would be caught lying to her.

And that couldn't be anything but bad.

How had he ever ended up in this situation? he wondered desperately. Oh yeah. That's right, you bloody stupid wanker! he reminded himself sarcastically. You accepted the Slayer's soddin' claim, you git! And now you're hers, nothing to be done about it. You've got to do what she says, whether you like it or not.

Or did he?

He found himself wondering about the limits of the claim the Slayer had made. He had been the recipient of a dominance claim once before – the type of claim he knew that the Slayer had intended to place over him. And it was definitely not pleasant to be on the receiving end of that sort of thing.

But this did not feel like that had felt. That had been an overwhelming, consuming terror in the presence of the one who had claimed him, that sprang from an absolute inability to disobey the commands he was given, no matter how hard he tried. And considering the cruelty of the one who had had the power to give the commands, it had definitely been a terrible situation to be in.

But there had never been the desire, the desperate need, that he felt for the Slayer now, as a result of this claim. He had been attracted to her before the claim, had admitted to himself that he did want her -- but this was so much more. He needed her, craved her, and though he hated to admit it, he found himself wanting to please her.

He had never felt those things for his former claimant. Never. There had only been a seething hatred and resentment, at being forced into submission.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this claim had been finalized during sex; maybe it was the fact that he had never actually given in to her in the physical fight that had preceded it; or perhaps it was the fact that on some level, a part of him had wanted to accept his claim. She had stated boldly that she wanted him, and that hopeless romantic side of him that desperately longed to be wanted had seized at that promise she had extended.

He didn't know. All he knew was that this was different from the last dominance claim he had been a part of.

Time to test the limits of this particular claim – to find out just how "different" it really was.

"Shut up" she had said. In his experience with dominance claims, an order given by the claimant had to be obeyed; it was next to impossible to keep from obeying it. If this was like the other claim, then he should not be able to speak, even if he tried.

He looked her boldly in the eyes, allowing a defiant smirk to cross his lips as he replied in a mocking tone, "Sorry, love. Got a bit bored and lost you there for a bit. What did you say again?"

Well, then. Not like the last time. That was definitely a good thing.

Maybe. Or maybe -- not so good.

The Slayer's narrowed eyes and the angry set of her jaw reminded him that perhaps there would have been a better time to test the limits of the claim than – well, any time when the Slayer quite literally had his dick on a bloody leash.

Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, tilting his head back slightly. His instinct was to pull away; he wanted to desperately, his every sense screaming danger. But he was helpless, trying uselessly to move against the chains that bound him and her strong hand gripping his neck. Couldn't. Couldn't move at all. He had never felt so vulnerable in all of his existence. He had never been so bloody vulnerable!

She smiled coolly, her lips inches from his, as she said softly in a voice of quiet menace, "Maybe I just need to work a little harder to keep your attention."

He winced in anticipation of the pain he expected, the upward jerk of her hand on the belt that would send excruciating pain through his entire body, and steeled himself not to cry out – not to give her the satisfaction. But the expected punishment did not come.

Instead, the Slayer's fingertips on the hand behind his neck played lightly around the edge of her mark on his throat, which suddenly seemed ten times as sensitive as his previously most sensitive body part. The light touch sent a powerful sensation of pleasure through him, and he groaned softly, his head rolling back slightly into her hand.

"You like that?" she murmured, a soft mockery in her tone that he missed through the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body.

Of course, he would have missed it if a bloody tornado had ripped the roof off the mansion and carried them both away to Australia – as long as it left the bed intact, and didn't tear her fingers away from their slow, steady work.

He could find no words, could only nod helplessly, desperate for her touch.

Without warning, her fingernails dug sharply into the sensitive flesh of his throat, and the pleasure she had been giving him was instantly transformed to a fiery agony of pain. "How about this?" she hissed in his ear with a cool smile. "You like that too?"

There were no words to describe the feeling of her touch on the mark, delivered in anger rather than a desire to give pleasure. The searing, almost unbearable pain that shot from the mark, through his entire body, was worse than any punishment he had imagined that she would deliver.

He could feel her anger, her power, flowing through him and around him through the touch of her hand on her mark, a terrifying, overwhelming flood of sensation that spoke volumes more than her words could have spoken. In her touch, he felt the claim she had made, her right to command him and his own dangerous mistake in defying her, and her fury at being defied. It made him want to beg her for mercy, to please just stop – it was simply more than he could stand.

He didn't realize that he was begging, pleading for her to stop, until he heard her whispered word next to his ear, accompanied by an increase, rather than an easing, of the pressure on his throat.

"Quiet," she commanded softly, and in her tone he heard the full authority of the claim she had made – that he had accepted.

And then he felt it.

A strange, powerful compulsion to obey. It was not like the dominance claim he had been under before. He still had a choice. He physically could have spoken had he chosen to. It simply seemed unthinkable to choose to disobey. He was hers, and she had ordered him to silence.

He was silent.

Through the heat of her touch, the powerful sensations overwhelming him, a trace of memory came back to him -- of the last time he had felt anything like that quiet urging, that irresistible compulsion to obey her command, that he had felt as she had pressed down hard on her mark and ordered him to silence.

It was not quite the same -- but it drew to mind the memory of his sire's command, many years ago as a fledgling. Oh, he could disobey his sire -- and had, frequently. But there were times when his sire would be absolutely adamant about some command -- and somehow, his authority, his power, would come through in a certain tone that he would use -- and in those times, there was no option to obey or not.

He simply knew that he must. That was it.

His thoughts were torn once again from his memories as the Slayer once again increased the weight of her fingers against his torn flesh, whispering in a dark, possessive tone, "You're mine."

He felt the words all through him, a terrible, delicious shudder of affirmation at their truth. He felt that he was hers. He gasped in pain at the shock of the powerful sensations, physical and otherwise, that were flowing through him with her touch and her words.

He wanted to cry out, to speak. Please...please...please... echoed in his mind -- but something held him back from speaking the words -- her command that he was somehow bound to obey.

Amazingly, as if she had heard his desperate words spoken only in his mind, she did finally ease the pressure of her fingertips, instead cupping her hand lightly over the wound, surrounding it with heat from her hand that was soothing to the pain that was shooting out from the spot through his entire body.

"Mine!" she repeated warningly.

He nodded desperately, still not daring to speak.

He felt the taut leather of the belt go slack, as the Slayer straddled him, one knee on either side of his hips. She removed her hand from his neck, and he bit back a whimper at the loss of the intense contact with her mark on his throat.

His obedient silence was swiftly rewarded, as he felt the belt removed completely, followed by the light brush of the Slayer's sodden center over the tip of his swollen erection. Her mouth lowered to hover over his throat, her hot, moist breath a torturous promise on his skin, which felt oddly fevered, considering that he had no body heat at all.

He glanced down to see that the very convenient red skirt had been hiked up around Buffy's waist; apparently she had been in too great a hurry to find him to bother with panties. He stifled a groan at the sight of her glorious body, exposed to his vision.

Suddenly, she jerked his head back hard, filling his sight with her maliciously seductive smile, inches from his face. "Close your eyes," she ordered softly, and a thrill of fear went through him at the loss of one more piece of the slight control he had left – but he obeyed.

Suddenly, he felt her body dip down onto his for an instant, then pull back, teasing him with pleasure she withheld. At the same moment, her mouth descended onto her mark, her warm soft tongue tenderly caressing the wound she had left there, sending a blissful feeling of warmth and safety and belonging all through him.

I can make you feel so good, Spike.

He was startled to realize that she was not actually speaking aloud – couldn't be. Her mouth was still caressing his skin so softly, driving him to a point of pleasure that he could barely fathom.

I can make you want me to touch you so bad that you'll be begging on your knees for just a little bit more.

Her words were a soft seduction in his mind, inviting and intimate, as the sweet affection in her voice coursed through his mind and body, consuming him, surrounding him, until there was nothing but the sweet sensation of her touch.

And in that moment, her teeth sank sharply into his highly sensitized throat, her hand lowering to take the base of his erection in a hard fist, leaving nothing but pain in place of the beautiful pleasure she had been giving him.

Or I can hurt you, she went on in his mind, and the surge of power and menace carried by her thoughts sent a shudder of fear through him. If you insist on defying me – I can remind you that you are mine. I can punish you until you beg me for just one more chance to prove that you can please me.

The power of the threat in her voice made him fight uselessly against his bonds, pulling instinctively away from her painful bite in fear. But when she only clamped down harder on her throat, and he felt her dark fury through that forced connection, he ceased his struggles, realizing the truth. There was no escape, and he was only angering her further. His head fell back in a primal gesture of submission that was as clear as the words that he could not speak.

He was hers; and he was admitting it, giving in under the overwhelming power of her claim.

She raised her mouth from his ravaged throat, her lips stained with his blood, studying his face. His eyes were still obediently shut; his lips parted and trembling.

"Look at me," she whispered, and he obeyed, wide shocked blue eyes meeting her wild, feral gaze. "You. Are. Mine," she stated again in a low growl of possessive menace.

He nodded quickly, holding her gaze, breathing hard, aware that he was completely in her power. Pleasing her, satisfying her demands, became his priority of the moment.

"You will not leave me again," she declared – and there was no mistaking the power – or desire – in her voice.

He shook his head to indicate that he would not, and he meant it – but could not suppress the smirk that played faintly about the corners of his mouth. His leaving had only upset her – because she wanted him so badly.

Her eyes narrowed in anger, and he braced himself for her violent reaction to his smug response. But apparently, she had a worse punishment in mind. A sly, calculating smile on her lips, she held his gaze as she slowly removed her hands from his body completely, lifting up off of him so that she was not touching him at all.

She meant to show him whose need was greater in this little situation – and as a sense of desperation rolled through him at the loss of her touch, he knew that he had lost already.

Please – please – please… the chant repeated in his mind, and her satisfied smirk confirmed that she had heard his thoughts, as he had heard hers.

"You want me, Spike?" she whispered, one hand lightly trailing over his trembling, gasping lips.

He nodded pleadingly, turning his face into her hand, repentant already and desperate for contact.

His heart sank as she removed her hand and rose from the bed completely, smiling maliciously into his eyes. Unconsciously he thrust up toward her as she did, desperate to feel her, touch her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at his attempt, as she picked up the discarded belt from the mattress, winding it around her hand a few times as she glared at him, shaking her head in a reproving way.

"You don't touch me unless I let you touch me, Spike," she told him, idly trailing the rough leather in her hand across his throbbing member, and he jerked involuntarily at the contact.

She smirked at him – then suddenly raised the belt and brought it down sharply across his thighs, bare inches from his balls. He could not suppress the moan of mingled pain and pleasure at the sharp, stinging sensation.

"You're not behaving very well," she commented softly, running the belt through her fingers as she walked slowly along the side of the bed. "You must want to be punished."

He shook his head desperately, emphatically, knowing that if she truly decided to punish him, it would be to leave him wanting, rather than the beating she was suggesting. At this point, he would definitely have preferred the beating.

"No?" she said in a surprised tone, moving closer and reaching out a hand to trace her fingertips lightly, almost casually, up the length of his hard, aching member. "What do you want, Spike?" It was a cruel question; she knew very well he could not answer.

Her agonizingly light touch stole his control, and he thrust up just slightly against her hand, with a soft, pleading moan.

Immediately she pulled back, delivering a sharp little slap that drew a hiss of pain from his lips as she snapped, "No!" She paused, then ordered softly, "Don't…move…" as she returned her hand to its previous motion.

He forced himself to obey, though he desperately wanted to move, and this command did not carry the full authority of her claim behind it. It was nearly impossible to keep still, but he feared her anger if he should fail to obey her.

"Good," she said softly, removing her hand again. He forced himself not to move, not to make a sound, as she moved up to the head of the bed. "Maybe I should reward you." She moved in slowly, her hands on either side of his head, the belt resting unnoticed across his shoulder as she whispered seductively, "What do you want, Spike?"

He bit back the frustrated whimper of desperation that rose in his throat at the knowledge that he could not tell her.

She smiled softly, her hand beside his head rising to brush the backs of her fingers tenderly across the mark on his throat. He threw his head back involuntarily, cringing inwardly even as he did. He knew he would be punished, but he simply couldn't help it.

The Slayer only smiled affectionately at the evidence of his desire for her, caressing the spot lightly for a moment as she said, "You may speak."

Just like that, the restraint that had kept him silent lifted, and he could speak again. At the same moment, she withdrew her hand.

"Please," he whimpered hoarsely, his voice almost a sob. "Buffy – Buffy, please…"

"What do you want me to do, Spike?" she asked him, not touching him – yet – smiling, enjoying her power as she proved her point.

"Please – God, Buffy – please – touch me!" he gasped, yearning in his voice.

"Touch you?" she repeated in a whisper of breath, her hands moving to his sides and trailing little shivers of pleasure across his skin with the light scrape of her nails, as she let the belt slide from her hand to the floor, forgotten. "Like this?"

He tried very hard to keep still, trembling all over with repressed need, but not daring to risk her wrath by moving – not now, when things were going so well. Her touch set him on fire, leaving him longing for more. Any contact was good, after the way she had denied it before. But she was still holding back what he needed most.

"Please," he moaned softly. "Please, Buffy – please…"

She slowly climbed back onto the bed, straddling his legs, just above his knees, her hands moving slowly down to his hips, holding him down on the mattress, as she stayed on her knees above him, still not giving him what he so desperately craved.

"Please what, Spike?" she said in a soft, taunting tone, trailing her hands slowly inward along the lines of his hips. "Tell me what you want."

"Touch – please – touch me…" he moaned incoherently, his body quaking under her tantalizing hands, so near to his need, yet torturing him with her refusal to grant it.

"I am touching you," she said in a voice of innocent confusion, her fingers lightly tracing up and down the inside of his thighs, a malicious smirk on her lips at his desperate moan that was almost a sob.

"Where do you want me to touch you, Spike?" She finally took pity on him and guided his words, her thumbs finding a tender pressure point on his inner thigh and pressing down, smiling and pressing harder when he whimpered softly.

"Please, Buffy – please – touch – touch me – my cock," he pleaded desperately. "Please – please…"

Immediately her hand closed tight around the base of his erection, sliding slowly down to its tip, and he moaned at the pleasure and agony of the sensation. Her hand froze around him, preventing any further satisfaction, holding him in a grip that was not exactly painful – but definitely unbreakable.

"Don't you mean mine?" she corrected him with a wicked smirk, her thumb tracing a torturous circle around the tip of his desperate, weeping erection.

"Yes!" he cried out in an anguish of pleasure and need. "Yours, Buffy, yes, yours, all yours, all yours!" His words came out in a trembling, incoherent babble, just desperate to satisfy her, to please her, so that she would end the torment she was so expertly inflicting.

"That's right," she whispered, her hand beginning its slow upward movement again, as she raised her body up, her hot, wet center hovering over him enticingly. "Mine. You're all mine," she murmured, brushing her body across him in the lightest of touches, driving him to greater urgency of desire.

"Buffy – Buffy, please – please…" he gasped, pulling against the bonds that held him, forgetful of her command, knowing only that he had to be inside her – had to!

He thrust his body up toward her – and her hand around him suddenly became hard, slamming him down and pinning him to the mattress hard. Lust-darkened eyes met his with a smoldering intensity that held him and would not let him look away, as she whispered softly, but with a note of unquestionable authority.

"You're mine! I am not yours. You'll get only what I choose to give you! Do you understand?"

He stared into the dark, mesmerizing light in the Slayer's fierce, predatory eyes, and knew in that moment that this was not simply Buffy that he was dealing with, but some deep, primal part of her nature that something deep within him recognized with a sense of dread and terror.

And yet, something in him rose up in protest against her words, some part of him that defiantly insisted, against her words, that she was his! He had claimed her, and she was his!

But no – that was just his own desires talking. She had rejected his claim, and thus made it of no effect.

Her claim, on the other hand, could not be denied. The power of it surrounded him, held him in an inescapable grip, and he knew beyond any doubt that he was hers – hopelessly lose in her desires – at her command.

He realized suddenly that he had lost himself in his thoughts, and had failed to answer her question, as her eyes narrowed in anger, with a vindictive light rising in them. Her hand was still hard on his body as he winced in expectation of vicious punishment.

And in the next moment, her expression became a cold smile, as she released him completely, rising up slightly off him with a questioning challenge in her eyes. And he knew in that moment – she could and would leave him like this, if he did not satisfy her. She might want him – but due to the claim he had accepted, his need for her was far greater than her desire for him.

"No," he whimpered, shaking his head. "Please, Buffy…no, I need you…please!" He hated the desperation in his voice, but he was desperate. He was helpless, and she had the power to fulfill his need – or to leave him here like this, chained and alone and longing for what only she could give him.

And that was the point, he realized suddenly, of this whole lesson of hers.

She smiled maliciously, and whispered, "You don't deserve it. You've been very bad."

"I know!" he said hurriedly, desperately. "Please, Buffy, I'm sorry, please don't! Please don't go! I need you, Buffy, please!"

She did not move an inch, did not touch him, just hovered over him, deliberating. "You're going to do as you're told," she stated, meeting his eyes with a hard look.

"Yes!" he gasped. "Whatever you say, Buffy!"

"You're not going to go running off again."

"No!" he promised desperately. "No, no, never, Buffy, never!"

She smiled softly, one single fingertip moving down to trace slowly up the underside of his erection, making him moan softly as her nail lightly scratched his skin – but he did not move.

"And you'll take what I give you. No complaints. No pushing. I'm in charge here. Not you. Clear?" she went on, the touch of her fingers carrying him ever nearer to the edge of the ecstasy that she had not yet agreed to allow him.

"Yes!" he gasped in a pleading tone. "Yes, Buffy! Please! Whatever you want! I'm yours – yours!"

That was what she had wanted to hear, voluntarily, from his lips, and she suddenly removed her hand, only to immediately plunge her body down onto him, so suddenly that the shock of her tight heat left him breathless, stunned, staring up into her dark, hooded eyes inches from his, feral with possessive desire.

She pulled him into a deep, intense kiss, forceful and demanding, invading his mouth with her tongue, slamming his head back down onto the mattress. Her hands lowered to rest on his buttocks, pressing him harder against her, urging him to the response she had formerly forbidden, and he thrust into her, moving in flawless rhythm with her slow rocking against him.

Their pace gradually increased as they both neared completion, and he gasped out, "Buffy – Buffy – please…"

She knew instinctively, through the new but powerful connection between them, what it was that he craved – because she wanted it, too.

He let out a soft, strangled cry as her warm lips caressed his throat with soft, light kisses, sending a fresh wave of pleasure all through him. Encouraged by his response, she intensified her efforts, continuing the gentle rocking motion of her body. When she closed her teeth lightly over the mark, he gasped out, "Yes! Buffy, yes! Yes!"

She bit down harder, and as his cool blood trickled down her throat, she felt her orgasm engulf her, at the same moment that his overcame him, and then she was falling – falling – into depths and heights of pleasure like nothing she had ever known.

She awoke in the stillness of the early morning, a bit disoriented and utterly exhausted despite the night's sleep she had just gotten. There was no clock in the room, but the bit of sunlight filtering through a small hole in one of the high, painted over windows, told her that it was indeed morning.

She was having trouble remembering exactly how she had come to be there – until her eyes fell on the sleeping vampire beneath her – and the chains that bound him to the bed – his freshly bruised and ravaged throat…

Oh, God.

Her eyes widened. Was that – was that really me? she wondered, a strange horror and excitement both coming over her at once – followed by more horror that the memory excited her at all.

Bits and pieces came back to her, little by little, and she felt a rising fear and unease in the pit of her stomach.

The things that she had done!

She felt him stir under her, and scrambled backward with a sudden sense of alarm. His movement, the brush of his cool skin against her flushed, sleep-warmed body, made it all the more real to her. She hurriedly got off the bed, searching for her clothes.

Wait. She was still dressed. She had done all that, and she was still dressed?

Somehow that made it seem even worse.

She hurried from the room, ignoring the restless, waking-up stirrings of the vampire on the bed – and the strange stirring in her that made her want to go right back to the bed and lie down with him again.

She found her cell phone and opened it with trembling fingers, thankful that the number she needed to call was on speed dial, noticing only after it started ringing that it was 6:30 in the morning.

Two rings. Halfway through the third, she heard, "Hello?" The voice on the other line was annoyed.

"Anya?"

"Buffy?" Anya sighed impatiently. "Unless it's about the orgasms that you are so rudely preventing me from having before my boyfriend goes to work…"

"It is," Buffy blurted out hurriedly, then grimaced as she rushed to correct herself. "No – not -- your -- um, things," she amended, wondering at the irony that the sexual predator of the night before couldn't bring herself to say the word "orgasm" this morning. "Not yours. Mine."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. "I'll be right there," Anya said finally.

"No!" Buffy objected quickly. "Um – meet me at my house in – in an hour. My mom's out of town so we can talk. Okay?"

"Okay," Anya agreed. "Buffy – is it bad?"

"Oh, God, Anya, is it bad!" she replied in a dark, trembling voice, her eyes wide and somber as she hung up the phone, trying hard to ignore the insistent little voice in the back of her head that argued with her assessment of the situation.

But, boy, was it good!


	13. Chapter 13

As she hung up the phone, Buffy rushed back into the bedroom, almost frantically gathering the few things she had discarded during the course of the night before. She had to get home and get cleaned up before her meeting with Anya. Her mind was racing ahead, trying to decide just how much she should tell her friend – since "everything" was certainly out of the question – and she was only half-focusing as she hurriedly moved about the room.

She quickly gathered her belongings – her jacket, the boots she had finally taken off just before finally falling asleep – she suddenly flinched backward in revulsion when she came across Spike's belt, lying on the floor beside the bed where she had dropped it.

She stood up slowly, wide eyes staring at the simple piece of rough black leather, her mind filled with memories of the night before and how she had used it. She could hardly believe that she had done the things that she had done to Spike – had no idea what had possessed her to behave in such a way.

It was almost as if something had taken her over, guiding her actions and leading her to do things she never would have considered on her own. The claim seemed to have awakened some primal, dark part of her nature that she had not even known existed before. And when Spike had left in the wake of her claim, that part of her had seen it as defiance – and had proceeded to take her over.

The overwhelming fury she had felt, the need to assert her power over the vampire she had claimed, was frightening to her in its intensity, even now in the light of day. She could not explain the powerful desire she had felt to prove to him beyond all doubt that she was the one in control, that he was at her mercy – that he was hers.

And he was hers.

Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry with renewed desire as she took in the sight of the still form asleep on the bed. God, how she wanted him! As she watched him, he stirred in his sleep, pulling slightly against the chains that still held him, and she felt a rush of desire flood her nether regions at the very sight.

It was disturbing to her that the sight was so arousing to her. Her former mortal enemy, bound, helpless, and utterly vulnerable to her – and it filled her with a powerful desire like nothing she had ever felt before.

Bound, helpless – and completely desperate for her. It had been quite obvious the night before that she was not the only one affected powerfully and strangely by the claim. It had clearly awakened a need, a longing, in Spike – for her. All the things she had done to him – she had teased and tortured him, giving herself to him only as she chose, making it clear that he was at her whim. She had hurt and abased him and demanded nothing less than his absolute submission.

And he had yielded it freely, and begged her for more.

Something is seriously wrong with this picture.

As she looked on, the blonde vampire began to slowly awaken, drifting out of the heavy sleep that had overtaken him after the intense events of the evening before, straining slightly against his bonds, frowning in confusion, not seeming to remember where he was or what had happened, as he gradually opened his eyes.

The moment they fell on her, he froze completely, his half-hearted struggles ceasing as he stared at her, memory coming back to him. She did not move, did not look away, strangely feeling no shame at gazing so freely on his naked form, something that would have had her blushing and turning away in shame the day before.

But why should she feel ashamed? After all, he was hers, wasn't he?

The myriad emotions that flowed through him with the memory of the night before were all too clear in his incredibly expressive blue eyes, focused intently on hers, studying her expression with a strange mixture of fear, resignation, and an oddly hopeful expectancy.

The uncertainty she saw in his eyes filled her with an unexpected softness, a sense of affection for him like she had only felt once before, in the moments when she had awakened after the claim. The anger, the rage she had felt the night before at his perceived rebellion had been soothed by her display of dominance, and his submission to it.

Now, she felt only a gentleness and compassion for him, her possessive feelings toward him taking a softer, protective turn. She saw his fear, his insecurity, and wanted nothing more than to take them away, to comfort and reassure him.

Suddenly, accomplishing that seemed more important than getting home, than her conversation with Anya – than anything else at all.

Slowly, with a grace and confidence that surprised her, she approached him, feeling a pang of regret when she saw his body tense as she neared him, saw him swallow reflexively and flinch just slightly as her hand stretched toward his face, intending nothing more than a tender caress.

"It's okay," she murmured softly, relieved when he relaxed slightly and leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting hers again, a question in his wide, startlingly blue gaze. "I won't hurt you."

He did not move at all as she leaned over him to unlock the chains that bound him to the bed, and he fell back onto the mattress, unable to hold back a soft sigh of relief that made her feel a sharp pang of guilt, for leaving him in the uncomfortable position all night. He just lay there patiently as she moved to the foot of the bed and released his ankles as well, before moving back up to the head of the bed.

She leaned down over him, meeting his solemn, wondering eyes with a tender, reassuring smile as she reached a hand toward the darkly bruised, bloodied spot on his throat that she had so abused the night before. His eyes widened with alarm and he tensed up – but did not pull away – a pleading look in his breathtaking eyes.

"It's all right," she repeated softly, gently brushing her fingertips across the wounds she had left, then lowering her mouth to kiss them softly.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back with a low moan at the sweet sensation, beyond pleasure, fulfilling a need deep within him for which he could not find words – a need for acceptance, for approval, for the tenderness and affection that she was unexpectedly lavishing on him.

The night before had been about punishment, dominance, enforcing savagely the lesson of just whose he was, and what was expected of him. But the lesson had been delivered and accepted, and now the Slayer seemed to be focused on healing and reassurance, teaching another, more pleasant lesson, of just what he could expect if he did please his claimant.

She deepened the pressure she was applying slightly, laving the blood that had dried on his throat gently away with her warm tongue, and he gasped at the intensifying sensation, a rush of hot pleasure flowing through him as she put her arm around him, resting her upper body against his as she raised her free hand to rest behind his head, steadying him.

Instinctively his arms rose to go around her, hesitating just before he touched her, remembering her sharp words of the night before – he was not to touch her, not unless…

Go ahead, he heard her soft, encouraging voice in his mind – and it was all the permission he needed.

His hands moved slowly, worshipfully, over her glorious body, still clothed in the top and skirt she had worn the night before, and she let out a soft moan at the sensation of his touch over the coarse fabric of her blouse. His hands lowered to rest at the base of the tiny scrap of leather that she called a skirt, then edged a few inches up to her hips, his hand sliding cautiously inward, toward her aching core.

Yes, yes, yes… she urged him silently, her mouth working over her mark with rising intensity, and the pleasure coursing through his body was nearly overwhelming to him.

"Buffy…" he whispered. "God, Buffy…need you…want you, Buffy…sweet…"

His soft, adoring, incoherent ramblings in her ear intensified her pleasure as his skillful fingers did their work to bring her to the satisfaction of her need. She intensified her efforts, her hands running lightly up and down his body as her mouth caressed his throat.

Finally, in a moment of intensity every bit as powerful as anything they had felt the night before, and far more sweet, they reached their fulfillment in the exact same moment, her body clenching tight around his fingers as her orgasm engulfed her, her mouth closing with a gentle but intense pressure over her mark on his throat, bringing him to his climax a mere fraction of an instant later.

Only when it was over, as the blissful haze began to pass from them, did he realize…

She had never once touched his cock – and yet the intense pleasure that had consumed him was greater and more powerful than anything he had ever felt before.

She rose slowly from the bed, meeting his eyes with a tender smile, lowering her lips to his to grace him with a slow, thorough kiss, before standing up straight again.

He lay there for a moment, watching her, before he slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, never taking his eyes off her as she gathered up her things again, sitting in the chair across from the bed to put her boots on -- preparing to go. He just sat there for a moment on the edge of the bed, absently rubbing his sore, aching wrists, as he watched her.

"Where…" he began finally, his voice hoarse and hesitant from lack of use. "Where are you going?"

The insecurity in his voice was clear, though he tried to sound unconcerned, and Buffy paused, regarding him for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell him. Finally she replied, "I need to talk to Anya about something. And then, a little later, we're going to go to the Magic Box. Giles wants to meet."

He looked down for a moment, pensive, before looking back up at her. "What do you – I mean – do you want me to…" His voice trailed off, his eyes finishing the unspoken question, over an uncertain frown.

"Go get cleaned up," she said in a quietly commanding tone that surprised her, though in a way it seemed so natural. "Get dressed and ready and meet me at my house at…" She glanced at the clock on her phone before finishing, "ten o'clock. Okay?"

He nodded slowly, studying her face, trying to read the answers there to the questions that swirled through his mind. He had no idea what was happening between them, what she thought about it, what her intentions were. He only knew that his future, his very being, was in her hands; and – her immediate tenderness notwithstanding – her capricious, possessive nature made that a frightening thought.

"Okay," he answered quietly, looking away. He had little other choice.

She looked up at him again, at the odd unidentifiable emotion in his voice, troubled and concerned – and wondering at the fact that she was troubled and concerned. She made a quick decision and moved quickly, purposefully, across the room to stand in front of him. Without hesitation she leaned down and kissed him again, firmly, intently, though the kiss was brief.

When their lips parted, she met his eyes again wordlessly, and he found some reassurance in the expression there. She cared. It mattered to her. What they had done was not meaningless, not merely a way of enslaving him to her, as he had feared.

He kept telling himself that over and over – hoping desperately to convince himself – as she turned and walked toward the door without another word.

Buffy deliberately did not think about the events of the past night as she let the hot steaming water from the shower wash over her body, rinsing away the sweat and other evidence of the night she had had. Her mind had been racing with confusing thoughts, trying to figure everything out, and she had come to the conclusion that she did not really know enough about the ritual or vampire bonds and such to figure it out on her own.

She would wait and let Anya try to figure it out.

She had barely stepped out of the shower and into her bathrobe when she heard the doorbell ring. She hurried to answer it, standing out of sight from the porch as she invited Anya in, before going back upstairs to get dressed.

When she returned to the kitchen where she had left the ex-vengeance demon, Anya was busying herself by putting on a pot of coffee. She smiled apologetically at Buffy as she came down the stairs.

"Long morning," she said by way of explanation. "Lots of orgasms to cram in, and not a lot of time to do it."

For once, Buffy was too troubled by her current situation to even notice Anya's blunt statement, responding only with a meaningless grunt as she took a seat on a stool by the center island.

Anya turned to face her, leaning her back against the counter beside the coffee pot with an expectant smile as she added, "Apparently it's been a long morning for you too?"

"Not so much the morning," Buffy amended with a little grimace. "as the night." She paused, frowning, before she admitted, "And the morning." She looked up at Anya with an expression that was almost panic in her emerald eyes.

"Anya, I don't know what to do. Something went wrong with the ritual. It must have. This is all just – just so strange. I don't know if I can even explain how I'm feeling right now. It's just – it's just too weird," Buffy shook her head helplessly, her face already coloring, though she hadn't even begun to tell her story.

Anya studied her face for a moment. "Well," she said matter-of-factly after a moment's pause. "maybe you should just start at the beginning and tell me what happened – and then maybe I'd have a freakin' clue."

Buffy took a deep breath, hardly able to believe she was about to tell this to anyone. "Well," she started hesitantly. "I think what started the whole thing off wrong was that – he tricked me. I didn't make him – actually say the words. Actually submit. Until – until we were already…"

"Halfway to happy land?" Anya supplied helpfully.

Buffy's lips quirked up without amusement as she nodded. "Yeah," she replied quietly. "And even then…he wouldn't really give in…I mean…he even bit me! He wouldn't give at all until I…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening slightly as she looked up at Anya with a guilty expression. She really wasn't sure if she wanted to share this part or not.

"Until you what?" Anya prodded impatiently. "What did you do, Buffy?"

"I – I really don't know why I did it," Buffy admitted softly, looking away. "It just – seemed like the thing to do at the time." She shrugged with a little grimace. "I – I kept insisting that he submit, and – and he wouldn't, and – and finally I, well I…"

"Buffy," Anya's voice was low and troubled as she interrupted suddenly, her eyes wide and alarmed as she went on in a slow, measured voice, "don't tell me you bit him back."

Buffy's eyes widened in stunned disbelief that Anya had guessed it so easily – followed by apprehension as she stared dubiously at her friend.

"Buffy," Anya prodded not too gently.

"I'm not telling you," Buffy said in a voice that was slightly petulant, looking away like a child trying to avoid punishment.

"Oh my God," Anya moaned, putting a hand to her eyes and turning away for a moment before turning back to Buffy with an anguished look.

"What?" Buffy demanded, standing up, on the verge of panic. "Anya, what?"

The ex-demon stared at her for a long moment with wide, somber eyes, studying her expression, looking her up and down almost as if looking for some subtle difference in her. When she finally spoke, her words sent a shudder of dreadful apprehension down the Slayer's spine.

"Buffy," she said quietly. "You have no idea what you've just done."


	14. Chapter 14

"Okay," Buffy said slowly, trying very hard to stay calm, though Anya's statement had her completely and utterly freaked. "I know that I don't have the first clue what I've done. That's why I'm asking you. Anya -- what?"

Anya took a deep breath before she spoke, trying to calm down herself. "Okay," she said in a carefully controlled voice. "Okay -- Buffy – maybe you should just start at the beginning. That's the only way I can know for sure, is for you to tell me from start to finish what happened. Then, I'll tell you what I know – but I'm not promising anything. I don't know everything about these things…"

"But you know more than Giles does," Buffy pointed out quietly.

"Well – it might not look like it," Anya admitted with a little shrug. "But I've got a good thousand years on Giles. But if it's what I think…" She stopped, shaking her head and holding up a hand to stop herself. "Go ahead. Talk."

Buffy took another deep breath as she prepared to speak. She hated to tell Anya everything about her night with Spike – she was not even sure if she could bring herself to, when it came right down to it – but she was just terrified enough at this point to try her best to be open.

"Okay – so – we got there, I waited until I knew that the spell had kicked in to deactivate Spike's chip – and I challenged him. I said the things you told me to say. And he said 'I accept'." She paused, frowning at the memory. "After punching me across the room. And then – we fought." She shrugged slightly.

"So far so good," Anya said. "If I didn't already know that it's not good. So – that's when he tried to bite you? While you were fighting?"

Buffy shook her head. "Not then. And not tried. He did. He bit me. But that wasn't until – um, later. See – Anya," she hesitated, before going on uncomfortably, "This is really embarrassing for me to talk about – but – it was almost like – something came over me. I don't know why I did it, but – but he was beating me, and I was scared, and he was so in control – I – I just sort of – made him -- lose -- control," she trailed off slowly.

"You came onto him. Used sex to subdue him," Anya concluded bluntly. "To catch him off his guard."

"Pretty much," Buffy admitted. "I don't know why I did it, but – but it made him stop fighting, and I managed to pin him down on the floor. And see – I'm pretty sure that's when things started to go wrong."

"What happened?"

"Well – I told him to admit that I'd won – to submit. And he nodded, like – like yes, I'd won." Buffy looked up at Anya to see if she was still following her, and the ex-vengeance demon nodded to show that she was. "So – I pressed him to say it. I said, 'I won – right?'"

"And he said?" Anya prompted her.

"Right."

Anya frowned, confused. "Right, what? What's right?"

"That's what he said," Buffy clarified. " 'Right'."

Anya gave her a blank look for a moment, that slowly changed to a disbelieving, almost pitying look at the ignorance of the girl before her. "He didn't say anything else?"

"Not…right…then," Buffy admitted, wincing slightly at her foolishness that was so clear to her now. "I guess – I guess I thought what he said was enough. So I – um – initiated the dominance ritual…"

"Jumped his bones," Anya translated.

Buffy glared at her for a moment before nodding. "I took him into the bedroom and – well – yeah. But um – Anya, this whole time – it was so weird – it was like – like it wasn't really me…I mean, it was me…but…not just me?" Her tone was questioning as she searched for the words to describe the sensation that had seemed to go beyond words.

She looked to Anya, but all she got this time was a puzzled frown and a slight shake of her head.

"I don't know," she went on, giving up. "It was just really weird. And I mean, this whole time, I thought I'd already won. It was supposed to be a symbolic act of dominance, right? After the actual ritual itself was over."

Anya nodded, still just listening.

"But then – right when…um…we were almost done," Buffy went on, blushing furiously in spite of herself. "He bit me. But – I pulled him off, and then – it was the strangest thing, Anya – I bit him back." Her eyes were wide, horrified, as she made her quiet admission. "I don't know why. Again, it was like I was – out of control. Like someone else was in control of me. But – it just seemed like the thing to do. And I – I made him say it then, once I realized that he hadn't said it before…"

"Say what?"

"Huh?" Buffy had to struggle to focus on Anya's question, having nearly lost herself in the vivid memories of the night before as she recounted them.

"You made him say what, exactly?" Anya asked.

"Well," Buffy tried to remember her exact words, her eyes widening as she did. "I said – he was mine. I told him to say it – and – and he did. He said 'yours'…"

"Did you draw blood?"

"What?" Buffy frowned, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"When you bit him. Did you draw blood?" Anya clarified.

Buffy hesitated a moment, thinking back. She could clearly remember the wild fury that had overtaken her, sinking her teeth into his throat until she broke the skin, her own warm blood flowing down her throat from his body…

"Yes," she replied in a low, frightened whisper. Oh God…what's happening to me? she wondered desperately.

Anya let out a soft little moan, turning away for a moment before turning back to look Buffy in the eye. "Buffy – it's just like I thought. That wasn't a dominance ritual. Not really. That was a claim. A – a blood bond."

"What?" Buffy did not like the sound of that, even though she had no idea yet what it really was. "But – he's obedient to me now. Like you said about the dominance ritual. We completed it, we just did it – a little out of order," she finished weakly, well aware that she knew too little about this sort of thing to speak with any certainty. "But – it seems like it had the result that we were after."

"No, Buffy. You never completed the actual dominance ritual, because you never finished the fight. When you skipped to the sex before he'd actually accepted your authority, it's like – you just kind of – abandoned it and started the claiming process instead," Anya explained.

"So – why is he all submissive and stuff?" Buffy asked, confused. "If I didn't actually dominate him?"

"I didn't say you didn't dominate him," Anya corrected her. "I just said you never completed the ritual. The thing is, Buffy – blood – it's very important to vampires. And not just in the whole 'they cease to exist if they don't get it' kind of way. It's – it's powerful. It has – mystical properties that most people don't know about."

Buffy was silent, waiting for her to go on.

"It's like – when a vampire drinks someone's blood, they're drinking their life force – they're taking power from them to exist. So – even if it's a claim and not a dominance ritual," Anya went on. "If you're the aggressor – like you were – and you made the claim…and he accepted it – then you're gonna have a certain amount of power over him. It's kind of like – the act of turning. When a vampire turns someone, they're their sire, and they have a lot of power over them, at least at first."

Buffy was quiet, trying to take it all in. "So I didn't finish the dominance ritual – but he still is in submission to me – so – it's not that bad…right?" Her tone was hopeful, but she knew that there was little chance of things working out that simply. "I mean – it's not what we planned, but – we can work with it – right?"

"Buffy," Anya said, echoing her dubious thoughts. "It's not that simple. A blood bond – a claim, turning, whatever kind of blood bond – is – permanent, if it's returned by the one being claimed – and you said Spike did return it. So it's permanent. Beyond permanent, really. Eternal."

"Eternal?" Buffy's voice held a note of panic.

Anya nodded solemnly. "Yes. And – and here's the really bad news…um…this particular blood bond…initiated during the act of sex like it was – well, Buffy – it kind of sounds like a – a mating claim."

"What?" More than a note of panic showed in the word, nearly shouted as Buffy stood up. "What do you mean, mating claim?"

"I could be wrong, but I think – I think you've bonded yourself to Spike as your mate, Buffy."

Time seemed to stop as the Slayer took in those words, her mind reeling with the magnitude of what she had done. "No," she shook her head slowly. "No, that can't be. There has to be a way to – to undo it…" But even as she spoke the words, there was something even more troubling that the truth that had just been revealed to her. Some part of her rebelled against what she was saying, loathing the thought.

She didn't want to undo it.

"No," Anya said quietly. "There isn't."

"So…that's why I – I want him so much?" Buffy asked, her voice little more than a whisper, making the admission and the question at once as she met her friend's eyes. "Because I do, Anya. It's like – I can't be in the same room with him without wanting to – to touch him. And there's this weird, like – it's like I – care. A lot. And I didn't before, at all. I just – is that all because of the claim?"

Anya nodded slowly. "I think so. When a claim is made, the person doing the claiming is saying that the person being claimed is theirs. And that doesn't just mean they have to do what they say. That means the claimant feels the need to protect them – to care for them, as their own…because they are."

Buffy thought about that for a moment. "I don't get it," she said softly. "So – if it's a mating claim – why is he acting so submissive? It's like – he does whatever I tell him – he just let me…"

Her words suddenly cut off, and she glanced up at Anya in alarm. The girl had not missed her near slip, and was looking at her expectantly with raised eyebrows. Buffy did not want to go there – not yet – not at all, if possible, though she was beginning to doubt that that would be an option.

"It's like – he wants to please me…you know?" she went on, resolutely sticking to her original question. "I mean – it's totally not like Spike. It's gotta be an effect of the claim, right? But if it's a mating claim – shouldn't we be like – equals? Shouldn't I want to please him too?"

"If it's a mutual claim," Anya agreed cautiously. "Like, if he claimed you too. When he bit you…did he say anything?"

"Yes," Buffy remembered slowly. "He said 'mine'."

Anya's eyes widened in alarm and she drew in a sharp breath. "Did you – did you respond?"

"Well," Buffy went on, looking away, remembering, "I told him that I rejected his claim. And then I claimed him. Something kind of told me that that – that would give me the upper hand."

"It sort of did," Anya agreed with a nod. "I mean, a claim that's made and not accepted – it's still there, but it's not quite as effective. And it fades away, in time. See – it's not so much your claiming Spike that's making him submit to you, want to please you – as the fact that he accepted it. It's like – your claim is stronger than his – but his is still there."

"So…what does that mean, exactly? That he's claimed me? I mean – I guess I haven't really felt anything from that – not that I can tell," Buffy asked, confused, and more than a little concerned.

Anya shook her head. "Not a lot, really, at this point. It's gonna make you want him. Bad. Like, crave him night and day bad. But you won't have to like, do what he says or anything. That's where you're lucky that you didn't return his claim. Because if you did – then he'd have as much control over you as you have over him." Anya paused, frowning thoughtfully. "And of course, I guess then it kind of wouldn't matter either way. You'd be pretty much equals at that point, on the power scale."

Anya's words brought back more vivid memories of the night before, and Buffy looked back up at her uncertainly.

"Anya," she said quietly. "There's more. I mean – I – I kind of scared myself last night. Well, this morning. I did it last night, but I wasn't scared til this morning…"

"Buffy," Anya cut off her nervous ramblings patiently. "How did you scare yourself?"

"Um…well, Anya…I was just so…so aggressive. Like – right after we woke up – after the…the claim…he left, and – and I totally freaked, Anya. Except – I was completely in control. Calm. I mean, I wasn't in control…I think. I hope. It was that whole, someone else in my body feeling I was telling you about? Except that it was me…and I'm making absolutely no sense at all, am I?" Buffy stopped, looking up at Anya with a sigh of defeat.

"Surprisingly, you are," Anya informed her with a nod. "Go on."

"Well…I was just so…so…like, jealous maybe? Or – or possessive? Like I was just furious that he left, and…well…the things I did…Anya, I was seriously scary last night. Could that be another result of the claim? Because I so don't want that to be permanent!"

"I don't know," Anya said slowly, frowning. "Nothing I've heard would really explain that sort of thing. I mean – that's more along the lines of the dominance ritual. The one you didn't finish," she added pointedly when Buffy looked hopeful. "I really couldn't tell you. Maybe you should ask Giles?"

"No!" Buffy immediately replied, sounding nearly panicked at the thought. "I'm not telling Giles about this! Not yet!"

"Buffy," Anya frowned. "He's gonna have a lot of questions…"

"For now, we'll just tell him that it went like we planned. I fought, Spike lost, so now he does what I say. That's it, until I can decide how I need to deal with this."

"We don't have the rest of your life, Buffy," Anya retorted impatiently. "You really need to tell at least Giles about this. This is gonna be a hard thing to deal with on your own at all."

"But I'm not on my own," Buffy countered, her eyes wide and almost pleading. "I have you."

Anya heaved a weary sigh, but the look on her face said she was close to caving. "Buffy – this is a bad idea. The whole lying thing. I mean – you're gonna slip up somehow, and when the others find out you're lying, then that's just one more problem you're gonna have to handle…"

"Anya," Buffy interrupted in a voice of quiet anguish. "I can't. I can't tell Giles that I had sex with Spike and claimed him and now he's my mate for eternity, and every time I see him I want to throw him down and have my way with him."

Anya's mouth quirked up in a sarcastic expression. "Well…no. I couldn't tell him that either…but…"

"Anya…please," Buffy said softly. "Please, just…just go with me on this for a little while. It's not that I'm not gonna tell him. I just kind of have to…figure out how."

"Okay," Anya relented, sounding very doubtful about the whole thing. "But you need to figure it out soon. Because this is big. Like, life-changing, destiny-shaping big. And you're going to need the support of your friends to get through this."

Buffy nodded meekly, just wanting the lecture to end, more than anything. She had so much to think about…so much to process and try to figure out. She knew on some level that Anya was right – she was going to need her friends, her Watcher, to get through this newest development in the insanity that was her life.

And yet, some part of her mind was still focused intently on the vampire she had left at the mansion, the one who was now irrevocably hers, for eternity. She was in a state of shock at learning the truth, but on some level, it had not even come as a surprise. It was as if a part of her had already known what Anya had told her. She was terrified of how her friends would take it, what Giles would say, and yet on some level, none of it seemed to matter.

Because on that level, she somehow felt that all she really needed – was Spike.


	15. Chapter 15

Spike was lost in his whirling, confusing thoughts, as he rose from the bed and began to get ready, as Buffy had instructed. His entire world had just changed, literally overnight – and it was an awful lot for him to take in. New, undefinable sensations and emotions swept through him, and though he could hardly begin to make sense of it all, he felt that he himself had changed in some profound, powerful way.

He winced slightly as he pulled his black t-shirt on over his head, the fabric brushing accidentally across the tender, torn flesh of his throat – and then his eyes widened, as all at once the reality of what had happened sank in with the twinge of pain from the contact.

Bloody hell, it had really happened!

The Slayer had claimed him.

His hand rose to rest cautiously over the mark, cupping it without touching it, as he stood there, trying to process all that had happened to him the night before – all that he was feeling now. And it was a lot.

He could still feel the sensation of her hands, her body, on his, the way her touch had set him on fire with longing for her, inspiring a need in him like nothing he had ever experienced. Her kiss on his lips – soft and tender in a few brief, precious moments; passionate and forceful so much more frequently – he could still taste, as if it had only been moments ago.

But the one sensation that he could not feel was the sweet agony of her hand, her mouth, on the mark she had left. It had faded into memory almost immediately, leaving only the burning, consuming desire to feel it again.

It was an aching hunger, deeper than any blood lust or human need for nourishment. It was a yearning, a desperation, for the connection she had forged between them – as if a part of him was missing, and he would only be whole again when she was near him, touching him, again.

And it was that thought that truly terrified him.

The intense need he felt for Buffy surpassed even the longing he had felt for Drusilla, during the hundred years they had spent together. He did not just want her – it was a craving, a consuming, desperate need. When Buffy had threatened to leave him the night before, he had never felt anything to compare with the terror that had come ove rhim – a sheer desperation to do whatever it took to keep her from walking away from him.

In fact, even when he had tried to leave her, immediately after the claim was made, he had found it very difficult – as if something was holding him, pulling him back to her. Every step away from her had been a struggle, like trudging through knee-high water – and when she had found him, a part of him had felt an intense relief just to be with her again.

And at the same time, the look in her eyes ahd set something inside him to trembling, some part of him recognizing that he had crossed an unseen line in attempting to escape her. And she had shown him that night, beyond all doubt, just how much power she held over him. She had overwhelmed him, surrounded and subdued him, until she had managed to reduce him to pleading, trembling submission.

He had been lost in a confusing, whirling vortex of sensations that had made him both dread and long for her touch. She held the power to make him feel incredible pleasure – or terrifying punishment – with a single touch. By the end of the night, he was completely aware of how thoroughly this amazing, stunning creature possessed him. He was unquestionably, totally hers.

And he wanted to be.

In the morning, he had been apprehensive, uncertain as to how she would treat him. Would the Slayer who had claimed him feel that his rebellion merited further punishment, or would she see that she had already thoroughly convinced him of her authority, and secured his obedience? Truthfully, he had been terrified at her approach, though he had tried not to show it.

But then, she had been so tender, so gentle and comforting, and he had felt in her touch the reassurance that he was hers, not only to control and to punish, but to cherish and protect. Her hard, possessive hands of the night before became soft, affectionate, making him feel cared for and treasured, and causing his fears to evaporate like mist in the sun.

Until she walked out the door – taking the sunlight with her.

She had left him. Yes, with a tender kiss, and plans to meet later that morning. But without the convincing factor of her touch, her smile, now that he was alone with his thoughts, he found his doubts returning.

She had only initiated the whole thing in the first place in an effort to dominate him. She was wise enough to know that, chipped or not, he was still a master vampire, and therefore still a threat. Therefore, she had wanted to make sure that he was in submission to her.

Well – it had worked, but apparently not quite as she had planned. He felt sick inside as he wondered again if the whole thing had just been a dreadful accident on her part. Or worse, if she had known the impact of what she was doing for him, but not cared, seen it only as a convenient means to the end of getting him under her control.

Once again he felt the powerful need to be with her, to have his doubts reassured by her nearness, and feel again the touch that would affirm beyond all doubt that he mattered to her, that he was hers – and that she wanted him to be.

Gingerly he touched the sore spot on his neck, wincing slightly at the pain of the contact. He wished in that moment that he could have seen his reflection, so that he could see the Slayer's mark. He could tell by touch that it was badly bruised, and probably red at the place where her teeth had pierced his flesh, judging by the strange warmth that was there – though the rest of his skin was cool as usual.

He remembered suddenly what Buffy had said earlier, about going to meet the Watcher and her friends later that day. He frowned slightly, wondering what she planned to tell them about last night. He could hardly imagine the Watcher's reaction when he heard, let alone when he saw the livid puncture wound on his throat, and realized that his Slayer had put it there.

Spike moved suddenly to the antique dresser beside the bed, where he and Drusilla had kept some of their things when they had lived there – still keeping up the pretense of being together, even though Dru had been sleeping with Angelus in a manner too obvious to even be called "behind his back".

He dug through one of the drawers, where he had kept his clothes. Around the time of Acathla, packing would have aroused the suspicions of Angelus and Dru, so when he had taken Dru away in his old DeSoto, they had left with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. This was the first time since his return to Sunnydale that he had had the chance to return to the mansion, so his things were still here – untouched.

He finally found a black cotton turtleneck, that he had rarely worn back then. He used to wear it on occasion when he was going out hunting and wanted to cover the bite marks left on his own neck by his enthusiastic, insane lover, bite marks that would have drawn attention and aroused suspicions, and possibly driven potential meals away.

That was back when he could hunt, unfettered by wheelchair or chip, back when his lover had still preferred him to any other. Before his entire life had been turned upside down more than once in a matter of a few short weeks.

A lifetime ago.

He slipped the t-shirt off and replaced it with the turtleneck, feeling to be sure that the mark was completely covered. The material against the wound was chafing, and felt too hot. He had the sudden impulse to take it off, wanting for some reason for it to be revealed, but he was sure that Buffy would not want the others to see it – not just yet.

Once he was sure that he was ready to leave, he took the blanket from the bed and made his way down through the tunnels that ran under the mansion, that took him out to the street a short way from the Slayer's house.

He sprinted the distance from the exit of the tunnel to the Slayer's back door, slipping into the kitchen, relieved and mildly surprised that his invitation had never been revoked. Buffy was no where in sight, and the kitchen was bright with sunlight, so he ducked down the stairs into the basement, pulling the door behind him – just as he heard the doorbell ring.

As he heard her footsteps on the stairs above him, he could smell her – the sweet scent of her shampoo, the fresh, clean smell of the soap she had used, combined with that intoxicating scent that was uniquely hers – she had just gotten out of the shower.

He heard her go to the door, and let Anya in. As they moved to the kitchen, he opened his mouth to make his presence known, to ask Buffy to close the blinds so that he could come out into the open.

Then – he suddenly stopped.

What does she need to talk to her about in private so badly, anyway? And why did she want me to wait? he wondered, his eyes narrowing in suspicion born of his insecurity.

He debated for a moment, then edged nearer to the closed door, his decision made. He would wait – listen – to see what the Slayer had to say before he made himself known to her.

It couldn't hurt to get a bit of inside information.

He listened, breathless with apprehension, as Buffy haltingly, awkwardly, described to Anya – in very limited terms – the events of the night before. He felt a cold, sick feeling come over him at the horrified, stricken sound of the Slayer's voice as she spoke of the things she had done, as if it were a terrible, dreadful thing of which she had every reason to be ashamed.

When Anya told her that what they had done was a mating claim, he gripped the banister tightly, shaking with fearful anticipation of Buffy's reaction. He had known that much already, though he wondered about the ramifications of its being donw in the midst of the dominance ritual – but Buffy apparently hadn't had a clue.

He froze as he heard her ask in a whisper, "Can we undo it?"

The words were like a slap in his face.

She wants to undo it – she hates me that much – she only wanted to control me…

The thoughts rolled through his mind on a repeating track, making him miss Anya's response, and the next bit of the conversation. He already knew the answer, anyway. A mating claim, accepted as he had accepted hers, was eternal.

There was no way to undo it.

He was eternally mated to a woman who despised him, who regretted her claim already.

He half-listened as the Slayer finished her conversation with Anya, and walked her to the door, telling her she would see her at the Magic Box that evening. Anya was going to let the others know to meet her there after dark, as it would be easier for Spike to travel then.

He waited, unsure of what to do. It was only nine o'clock; Buffy was not expecting him for another hour. But he could hardly imagine facing her, even then – knowing how she really felt about what they had done.

He listened as he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs again, heading back up. He took his chance to crack the door, trying to gauge the safest route outside – and saw that at some point during her conversation with Anya, she had closed the blinds – apparently in preparation for his arrival.

A sense of hurt anger came over him. Bloody wasted effort, he thought sarcastically. Cause as far as she's concerned, I'm not gonna show. I don't bloody care. Bond or no, I'm not stickin' around where I'm not wanted.

He stepped up into the kitchen, empty, and now completely safe, and went to the door a few yards away, fighting back tears of hurt and shame that filled his eyes. The tears only made him furious. Why should he even care? It was the bleedin' claim, was all! Before that, he had wanted nothing more than to rip the Slayer's bloody throat out! These emotions were lies, this feeling that told him he needed her, cared for her, wanted to be with her – all lies, only results of the claim – not truly from his heart.

He could – and would – walk away.

He realized suddenly that he had been standing by the door, the handle in his hand, for a minute or so, engaged in his mental rant, trying to build up the courage or anger or whatever emotion would overcome his doubts and allow him to simply walk out that door.

Just bloody do it! he snapped at himself viciously, despising the weakness that stayed his hand. Just open the soddin' door and walk out. Do it!

His hand slowly turned the knob, opening the door a few inches, as he shifted the blanket in his other hand in preparation to shield himself from the deadly sunlight that filtered through the space he had made.

Suddenly, a small hand closed over his and pushed the door shut firmly, as a soft, powerful arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him back, and he felt the warm pressure of her body against him.

He closed his eyes determined to resist, though he could feel the longing rising up in him. He wanted her so desperately.

"You're not leaving again – are you?" Her voice was low and warm, sweet as honey to his ears, but sharp with an edge of warning to it that sent a chill down his spine in memory of her reaction to his last attempt to leave.

He swallowed hard, determined to be strong, and forced the word out. "Yes." He did not turn around, his head bowed, unable to face her after what he had heard her say.

Not that he could have turned around, anyway. Her arm around his waist tightened slightly, her body pressing nearer, as she slid her hand on his up to his wrist, and pulled his hand back from the doorknob.

"I really don't think so," she said softly, reaching up to speak close to his ear, before she backed off suddenly, spinning him around by the arm and pushing him forcefully back against the door, demanding wordlessly that he face her.

He felt the anger rolling off of her in waves at his defiant intention to leave – but he did not flinch, did not relax the stubborn set of his expression, though he still did not look at her.

He was angry too, damn it!

"What do you bloody care anyway? I should think you'd be glad to see me go!" he snapped in a hurt, resentful voice.

"No," she spoke softly but firmly, yet with a hint of dnager in her voice as she reached out to take the blanket – necessary to his escape – from his hand, tossing it to the floor behind her as she moved in boldly closer to him.

"Right," he spat out bitterly with a humorless little laugh. "That's just bloody great! Bet you'd rather I went this way, anyway, wouldn't you? Meet the sun? Rid you of your little eternal problem?" As he spoke he jerked his wrist out of her grip and fumbled for the doorknob, not really intending suicide, intending nothing more than a dramatic gesture to reinforce the strong emotion he was trying to express.

Buffy took it a bit more seriously thatn that.

"No!" she snarled angrily, gripping his arms suddenly and slamming him back against the door so hard that his head knocked into the wood and he bit back a cry of pain.

He closed his eyes, turning his head away as she moved in closer – a feat he had thought to be impossible. He could sense the same powerful anger coursing through her that he had seen in her the night before, mingled oddly with the protective concern she had shown that morning.

And then, he felt a deceptively gentle hand at his throat, in a mimickry of a choke hold, but loose enough that his breathing was not obstructed in the slightest, her thumb falling just slightly to the side of her mark, covered by his shirt.

He drew in a sharp breath in anticipation – before he remembered that he was trying to resist her. It was a trick – nothing more. Just an attempt to dominate him. She did not mean by it what he had desperately hoped that she did.

"Buffy," he whispered, breathing hard, his head turned away. "No…don't, Buffy…" His voice was low, firm in its intent – but trembling with the need for her that he could not suppress.

"You don't mean that," she said with a soft smile, seeking his gaze and drawing it back to her with her own. "You don't want me to stop…"

"Yes," he gasped out as her thumb edged nearer to the mark. "Yes, I – I do…Buffy…stop," he whispered desperately – though he was not sure at this point what he was desperate for.

"Your mouth says stop," she whispered, her lips a mere breath away from his skin, staring up into his eyes with an unearthly light in her own, and he got that same sensation he had had the night before, that this was not merely Buffy. "But everything else is saying the opposite…your body…your voice…"

She paused, her low, seductive murmur taking on an almost hypnotic quality as she finished, "…even your thoughts, Spike. You don't want me to stop. You want this as much as I do." A low, throaty chuckle that was somehow cruel rose in her throat before she added with a smirk, "More."

"No…" he whispered his protest, little more than a breath and thoroughly unconvincing – especially followed by the low moan he could not hold back, as her thumb sightlessly found its goal, and his back arched slightly, shifting his body toward her, with the pleasure of it.

Feeling his swelling erection forming against her, the Slayer smiled. "Yes…" she whispered, pressing just slightly harder, her smile widening when his knees buckled slightly and he braced himself against the wall behind him with his hands. "Yes…"

He did not object again, gasping as he tried uselessly to control his own reaction to her – and failed.

God, he was lost to her! Utterly lost to her desires. He tried to fight it – but his need was simply too great.

Buffy slowly eased the pressure, raising her thumb from the mark, and he fought back a little whimper of desire.

"I'll stop," she said softly. "If you want me to." The words were not a threat; her tone was simple and honest, and he knew that while she was making a point, she meant what she said.

If he said "no" again right now – she would stop, and allow him to walk out the door.

If he said "yes", she would make no effort to punish his useless resistance by withholding herself from him, as she had done the night before. She would give him what he craved.

Time stood still for a moment in the dimly lit kitchen as she waited patiently, calmly, for his response.

He tried. He really did. He knew that her motives in all of this were not the same as his – that his need was greater, and therefore so was her power, and if he wanted to break it in some small way, this might be his only chance. He knew all of that.

But he also knew that if he did not speak, she was not going to touch him again – not going to fulfill that desperate need for connection, for that intimacy that he craved…

"Yes…" he whispered finally, slumping back slightly against the wall and raising his hands to take her arms and pull her closer to him. "Yes, Buffy…yes…"

She smiled a smile of genuine affection as she touched him again, reaching her other hand up to rest behind his neck and pull him down for a slow, intense kiss.

They had a lot of time to kill before sunset.


	16. Chapter 16

"Buffy," Spike gasped when she finally broke away from the kiss long enough to draw a breath. "Love – wait…"

There was a reason why he wanted her to wait – something important he had to talk to her about – something that should be preventing him from accepting her advances – from feeling – oh, God!

"Can't wait," she muttered in a husky voice, her hand behind his neck holding him firmly as her mouth dropped to caress the side of his neck, at the line of his turtleneck, her free hand coming to rest at his back, just below his waist, and press his swelling need against her, hard. "Now," she added in a throaty whisper against his skin.

Yes, now, now, need you, Buffy… his mind echoed his agreement with her words. He was desperate for her, longing for her, drinking in her scent, her warmth and nearness, like the sweetest water to a parched and dying man. How could he have thought to resist her, when he needed her so badly? Why had he wanted her to stop?

A tiny voice, nearly drowned out completely by his desire, tried to remind him of the answer – this wasn't real…it was a deception…she didn't care, she was using him…he needed to get her to stop…

Don't want her to stop… his mind rebelled against the soft voice of reason. Need her – don't ever want her to stop…

Her hand behind his neck pushed at the fabric of his shirt for a moment, wanting to uncover her mark to her touch, and he heard a soft growl of frustration rise in her throat at the barrier between her and the sign of her possession. She drew back to meet his eyes, her own feral and glittering with possessive lust as she demanded in a harsh whisper, "Off!"

He felt a shudder roll through him at her commanding tone, knew that this was an order he could not defy, but still, he hesitated. The instinct to obey, new, but still strong, warred with the instinct for self-preservation.

The indirect sunlight filtering through the closed blinds still set his skin to tingling in a natural warning of danger, though he knew it couldn't really hurt him unless it was direct. The thought of baring his body to it sent a feeling of fear through him that was primal, instinctive, rooted deep inside him as a part of his very nature.

But so was the fear he felt at the smoldering anger beginning in Buffy's eyes at his hesitation.

The wild, feral creature that had claimed him was visible again in her eyes, demanding the absolute obedience he had promised, a warning in her green eyes as both her hands went to his waist, impatiently pushing the material of his shirt upward as she hissed, "Now!"

His hands lowered to take over her work, pulling the soft shirt off over his head, as her hands slid slowly up his chest, leaving a trail of fire everywhere she touched him. As he dropped the shirt to the floor, her hands suddenly caught his wrists, pinning them forcefully to the wall on either side of the door, level with his head.

Lust-darkened eyes of jade met his in a smirk for just a moment, before slowly, boldly roving over the flawless alabaster of his chest. The desire in her heavy-lidded eyes, the arousal he could smell, sense, rolling off of her, made his knees feel weak and his cock harden with anticipation and need.

She looked him in the eye again as her right hand released his wrist, and the unspoken warning was clear. He did not move as her hot hand moved slowly over the smooth ivory skin of his cool torso, exploring his body in an almost leisurely way, without inhibition. The silent message was clear – he was hers, and she would touch him as she pleased.

Not that he was complaining.

Suddenly, her eyes met his again with a cold, predatory smile, and she shoved his chest hard, pressing him against the door as she moved in closer. His back flattened the blinds covering the small window in the door, leaving several small gaps that allowed the searing sunlight to touch his bare skin in thin lines here and there.

He gasped in pain and tried to move forward, but she only shoved him back hard again with a soft little snarl, and the threat in the sound was stronger than that of the deadly sunlight on his back. He dared not move again, despite the pain – not without her permission.

"Buffy," he gasped as she pressed her lips to his skin, just above his collarbone, heedless of his predicament. "Buffy – please…"

"Shhh," she murmured, her hot lips against his skin,just before she raised them, meeting his eyes for only a moment – but it was long enough for him to see the cruel amusement in her deep green gaze.

His eyes widened with shock and hurt as a chill went down his spine at the frightening intensity of the Slayer's hard, glittering gaze. It was not that she did not realize, in her consuming lust for him, that she was hurting him. He could see in her expression that she did know.

She simply didn't care.

He barely had time to register the fact before she broke his gaze, to plunge the heat of her mouth down over her mark on his throat, and an overwhelming sensation of pleasure swept over him, drowning out the screaming of his tortured nerves from the slowly singing places on his back.

"Buffy," he gasped out. "God, Buffy!" His unrestrained hand moved unconsciously to rest on her hip, wanting to pull her closer.

Her hand instantly caught his wrist again, without lifting her mouth from his throat, slamming his hand back painfully hard against the doorjamb. Her teeth scraped lightly across the surface of the wound on his neck, sending a burning sensation through him to rival that of the scorching sun on his back. It was a warning; he had almost forgotten himself. He was not allowed to touch her.

In that moment, as her touch ceased to give him pleasure, to ease the burn of the light on his back, for a bare instant, instead inflicting her own brand of pain, his entire body felt as if it were on fire, as if he was being burned alive. He let out a soft little cry of pain, of pleading and submission, and although she still did not let him move away from the window, she returned her mouth to its gentle work.

But the damage was done.

A sense of sorrow began to creep over him, beneath the surface of the pleasure she was giving him, as the painful truth sank in. His body was still responding to her powerful touch, but his heart felt heavy, and a part of him deep inside was sobbing with hurt and shame, at the way she was using him – and the fact that he was allowing it.

She didn't care. He was nothing but a toy to her – nothing but a possession to be used to bring her pleasure. She could dominate him, hurt him, until he was desperate for it to end; or give him such unspeakable pleasure that he could not express it, that he would hunger desperately for more of her touch – if it pleased her to do so.

But she could never love him.

This harsh reality gradually began to steal the pleasure from her touch, until the intensifying heat of the sunlight on his scorched skin overwhelmed the sweet sensation of her lips, her tongue, caressing his throat. The physical and emotional pain brought a soft sob to his lips, his body shaking as he weakly tried to push her back, unable to bear any more of the agony she was putting him through.

The Slayer's eyes were glazed with an unearthly glimmer of desire and anger, as she slammed him back hard against the door again, her hand on his chest deliberately pressing his back through the blinds against the cool glass of the window – but all he felt was fiery heat, intensified as she raised her red, swollen lips from his throat, as she met his eyes with a demanding challenge in her own at his slight defiance.

He hated the longing, the ache inside him that wanted her touch back – wanted the lie of her lips to obliterate the pain in his heart, his body, to send him into sweet oblivion, even if it literally consumed him. He hated her for making him feel it, for making him want her with her mysterious hold over him, effective even when he knew how little he truly meant to her.

But most of all, he hated the pleading, desperate sound of his own hoarse voice as he moaned, "Buffy – please – please…"

But it seemed to satisfy the demanding, possessive force that was in control of the Slayer at the moment. She smiled, and put her arms around his waist, pulling him away from the door and against her body.

The blinds snapped back into their normal position, and the searing heat that had tormented him was relieved. Weak with a combination of the pain from the burns on his back, and an unreasonable gratitude to his claimant that no further pain was to be inflicted, he stood there, leaning unconsciously closer to her, gasping for breath.

"Shhh," she whispered again in a soothing, comforting tone, and he felt the urge to break down – to take the comfort she offered, regardless of the fact that he knew he would not even need it if not for her abuse.

He fought it stubbornly, blinking back tears, pressing his trembling lips together in a defiant line. He should hate her! He should despise her for what she had done to him – what she was doing to him. And yet, he desired her embrace, her kiss, more than ever.

God, what had she done to him?

Her piercing eyes of jade found his, searching, questioning, and he averted his gaze, feeling too open, too vulnerable, his body, his heart – God, even his mind! – exposed to her scrutiny.

No, he thought desperately, focusing his every thought on closing his mind to her, not wanting her to see how deeply hurt he was, how devastated by her cruelty. No – I won't let you in! I hate you – I hate you…

The Slayer's eyes narrowed dangerously, as in her attempt to read his thoughts, she got his message, loud and clear. She saw the resolve in his face, the firm set of his jaw – and beyond it, the pain he was trying to hide – and a slow, calculating smile spread across her face.

She knew just how to break down that little wall of his.

Her strong hands on his waist suddenly became soft, gentle, as she backed up away from the door toward the island in the center of the room, pulling him with her slowly. She stopped when she had almost reached the island, letting her arms fall away from him completely and regarding him for a moment before moving to walk slowly around behind him.

His body was tensed, awaiting her judgment. He had sensed her anger when he had attempted to shut her out of his thoughts, though he was not sure yet if he had succeeded. His eyes were closed, his breathing fast and shaking slightly, as he braced himself for her violent reaction.

He was caught by surprise and completely off guard when he felt her hands, tender and gentle, brushing slowly up his sides and around to his back. He felt suddenly self-conscious and ashamed, and tried to pull away from her, even as he did expecting the action to be punished.

But she only made her hands on him firmer, though still not hard, and pushed gently forward, until he was pressed between her and the counter – trapped, unable to evade her gentle touch.

"It's all right," she softly said. "Let me see."

The concern, the compassion in her voice, were his undoing. He fought back the sobs that threatened to overpower him as her hands ran tenderly, carefully, up and down his back, tracing the burns left by the sunlight, but not touching them. The gentleness that she was showing now, as if his pain mattered to her – as if he mattered to her – was what he had craved so desperately – not just since the claim, but his entire bloody life – but had always been denied.

His emotions were so raw, so near to the surface, that he knew he was on the verge of breaking down as she whispered in a tone of affectionate sorrow, "My poor baby…" her gentle, warm hands moving between the dark red marks that criss-crossed his back.

When he felt the soft heat of her lips press lightly, tenderly, over one of the burns – it was more than his ravaged emotions could bear. He broke down, his shoulders shaking as he tried – futilely – to repress the sobs that finally overcame him. The tender gesture of compassion touched a deep need in him – flooding him with a sense of relief, safety, and belonging.

Maybe, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe she does…

Suddenly, he felt her lips against his skin turn up in a smile – and his heart sank with a sense of despair and disappointment as he realized the game she was playing. Her mouth moved upward slightly, and in the knowledge of her true motives, the heat felt oppressive, painful, not soothing as it had moments before.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, before kissing him tenderly again, but this time the subtle mockery was obvious to his wounded heart. She was making light of his pain and insecurity, using it to bend him to her will.

It hurt. Bad.

"Don't," he whispered in an anguished, pleading voice, pushing back against her, ignoring the pain of his injuries. "Stop – Buffy, stop!"

She complied, her cruel goal accomplished, stepping back and releasing him, a firm hand on his arm turning him around to face her, moving in close to him, her eyes shining with a strange light, a smirk on her face at successfully reaffirming her power.

He was bent slightly back over the counter, drawing away from her, at the moment no longer desiring her touch – just wanting to get away from her. Relentless in her quest for power, the Slayer extended a hand to stroke lightly down his face, and as much as he hated her touch in that moment, he dared not pull away from her.

"You can't win this, Spike," she whispered with a soft, triumphant smirk. "You're mine. In every sense of the word."

His eyes closed, trembling with the emotions that coursed through him, Spike spoke softly, in a voice of stark, honest pain, "I hate this. I hate what you're doing to me."

She only smiled, moving in nearer, her thumb rubbing away a tear on his cheek. "I know," she answered simply, quietly, without malice or compassion.

His jaw set in resentful anger, as he added in a voice that was trembling, but harder, "And I hate you." He half-expected a blow – an angry reaction to his defiant words.

What she did was so much worse.

She pressed nearer, eliminating all space between them, as she reached a soft, strong hand behind his neck to pull him closer to her, her fingers touching the edge of her mark. He gasped slightly at the sudden contact, his lips parting slightly, breathing harder as he fought for control.

No…no…no…

She leaned in, covering his mouth with hers in a kiss that was invasive, demanding, and he resisted her, struggling to pull away. But as her fingers gently massaged the token of her bond over him, he found himself responding in spite of himself, craving the nearness and connection that now only she could give him.

The moment he started to respond to her kiss, the Slayer drew back, smiling into his eyes with cruel triumph. He stared at her, stunned by his own reaction as much as by the sudden loss of contact.

"Hate me?" she murmured with a soft little laugh. "No…you really don't." The truth hit him like a blow, driving his terrible situation home, as she added in a cold, mocking tone, "That's what makes it so funny."

He flinched at her words, shaking his head slowly. He didn't want to hear this – couldn't hear it.

"You can't help it," she went on mercilessly. "You might want to hate me…"

"Please," he whispered, shaking his head, unable to look at her, just desperately wanting her cruel words to stop.

"…but you can't. You need me, Spike. You're. Mine. But you know what?" She moved in even nearer, her face mere inches from his as she smiled coldly at him.

"Stop," he begged her softly. "Please – please just stop this…"

She ignored him completely, answering her own question. "I'm not yours. Not really. That's what really gets you. You want me to need you – to want you like you want me – and I don't. Won't. Ever. Not unless I decide to let you make me. And that's so not gonna happen!" she sneered.

His eyes shot up to hers, wide with shock and hurt, as he realized that she was talking about his unreturned claim – and the fact that she never would return it. He felt his heart slowly crushed under the weight of her words as she went on.

"Yeah, you managed to get a little bit of an edge for a minute there last night. So maybe now, I want you too. I'll give you that." She shrugged with a careless smile, leaning in closer. "But you know what the difference is between you and me, Spike?"

"Please – please stop – please don't," he sobbed quietly, pleading desperately for the painful things she was saying to end.

She was not finished yet, and did not intend to stop until she was. She pressed her hand behind his neck, forcing his head to tip back, baring his throat to her. Almost instinctively he tilted his head slightly, offering up the mark to her in an unconscious gesture that once again proved her words.

She did not touch the mark at all, as she leaned in close to deliver the shattering blow in a cold whisper.

"I can have you -- any…time…I…want."

He was stunned, heartbroken by her words. "God, Buffy," he gasped, shaking his head in disbelief at her deliberately hurtful behavior. "Buffy, please stop! Please!" His voice softened with defeat, and an aching sorrow as he repeated in a whisper, knowing that it was really too late – she was finished, "Please."

Something in his pleading voice, some echo of the depth of his pain, reached past the possessive creature that had been in the forefront of the Slayer's psyche – already receding now that her demands of submission had been met for the moment -- and touched the protective, caring part of her heart that wanted to nourish and defend her vampire.

She stepped suddenly back away from him, releasing him, and he finally raised his eyes to look at her, his own expression dull and defeated. He was surprised, however, to see that her eyes were clear, startled, and held none of the primal menace and possessive cruelty that had filled her moments before.

Only Buffy stared back at him, with eyes slowly widening with shock and horror at the memories of the things she had just said and done.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Spike…" She shook her head slowly.

He looked away, sensing an apology – not ready to hear it.

She moved a hesitant step closer to him, speaking in a slow, disbelieving voice. "God – I'm so sorry, Spike…"

He just shook his head. "Don't," he whispered in a tone of mingled despair and disgust. "Don't…"

Desperate, she moved in closer, putting her hands on his arms, crossed defensively over his chest. "Please – Spike, I – I don't know why I – said those things…why I hurt – oh, God, your back! Are you okay?"

"Don't touch me," he whispered, pulling away from her slightly. "Buffy – just don't, please…"

She ignored his efforts to escape her, intent only on doing something to make right the wrong she could remember committing, but had no idea why she had done it. It was just as it had been the night before. She felt as if something else had taken control of her, and the things she had done, while she had wanted to do them at the time, horrified and repulsed her now.

"Spike, please just listen to me!" she insisted, moving in closer. "We need to…"

"I said don't bloody touch me!" he suddenly roared in anguish and pain, his arms flying out to break her grip and shove her forcefully backward.

Caught off guard by the unexpected blow, she staggered and fell back onto her rear. He watched as her eyes narrowed in anger – saw that light of fury come into her eyes – as she quickly rose to her feet, closing the gap between them in a matter of moments, her hand drawn back in preparation for a brutal backhand blow.

He couldn't move away, had no choice but to simply take it, and he braced himself – but the blow never fell.

Buffy suddenly withdrew her hand with a little gasp of shock and dismay. She shook her head, staring between her hand and Spike with stricken eyes, breathing hard.

"Spike," she whispered. "Something is – something is seriously wrong here."

He huffed out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You don't have to tell me that, Slayer," he muttered, looking her in the eyes with a sarcastic smile that was full of pain.

"I'm sorry," Buffy repeated, sounding distractedly and uncertain and – well, frankly, terrified. "I'm sorry. I – I have to go." She looked back at him suddenly, and then quickly away, unable to hold his gaze after the things she had done. Without hesitation she turned and headed for the door.

He despised himself for caring at all, but felt that uncertainty, that need, coming over him, an almost desperation as he watched her walk away, and could not help but ask quietly, "When will you be back?"

She stopped with her back to him, pausing for a moment before she replied, "I don't know. I – I'll be back at least by sunset. To get you for the meeting. Other than that – I just don't know."

And without a backward glance she walked out the door.

It was only after she had gone that a stunning thought occurred to him – a thought that left his mind spinning and searching with mingled excitement and apprehension for an answer.

Yes, she was the Slayer, and didn't get hurt as easily as normal mortal girls – but he had shoved her, hard, knocking her to the floor. It had to have caused her at least a little pain – judging by her reaction, the stiff sort of way she had risen from the floor.

He had hurt her.

And his chip had not fired.


	17. Chapter 17

God, why doesn't she open the freakin' door? Buffy wondered desperately as she slammed her fist urgently against the door of Anya's tiny, run-down apartment again, several times.

Someone at the next door down the hallway peered out at her with a resentful glare. "It's 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday, lady! Show some respect, would ya?"

At that moment, the fist that was much too strong for the small frame of the pretty blonde went right through the wood of the cheap door, and Buffy withdrew her hand with a little hiss of pain, shaking it as she bounced on her heels a bit with a little grimace.

"Crap," she muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Ow."

She glanced up at the wide-eyed man who was staring at her in disbelief – and rising alarm. "What are you looking at?" she demanded irritably, and he quickly ducked back into the relative safety of his own apartment.

Just then, Anya finally opened the door, staring dubiously at the new hole in it, and then back up at the nearly panicked Slayer who had made it. She stepped back to allow Buffy to come in, commenting calmly as she did, "I hope you're planning on paying for that. I can hardly keep up with the rent around here."

She paused, giving her broken door a regretful look as she added, "But I might not have to worry about that much longer."

"Sorry, Anya," Buffy replied automatically in a hurried, breathless voice that said without saying it that whatever concern was on her mind was far more important than the broken door or Anya's housing concerns.

Buffy just had no concept of how difficult it was for an ex-vengeance demon with very little experience at even being human -- let alone any other sort of experience – to keep from becoming one of the very small percentage that made of Sunnydale's homeless population.

"I just really need to talk to you, it's really important, it's just that this whole dominance mating whatever sort of stupid ritual I ended up doing is turning out to be seriously scary and…" Her voice broke off as she frowned down at her hand, bleeding in several places from its run-in with the door.

"Do you have any band-aids?" she finished in a small, pouty voice that made Anya think of a small – and quite spoiled – child.

With a weary sigh, she put the damaged door out of her mind and headed for the bathroom to get her first aid kit. Apparently, Buffy's situation could not wait. Or at least, Buffy was not going to let it wait. Her boyfriend's best friend's belief that the world revolved around her and whatever her current crisis happened to be could be very annoying, Anya thought, not for the first time, as she walked back into her tiny living room, first aid kit in hand.

Especially when said boyfriend seemed to agree with that belief.

She quietly sat down beside Buffy and opened the first aid kit, taking out antiseptic wipes, ointment, and band-aids. Buffy did not say a word as she carefully cleaned and bandaged her injured hand, taking deep, even breaths in an apparent attempt to calm herself.

"Are you calm enough to be coherent yet, because I'm not feeling terribly patient at the moment, and I could end up getting testy with you," Anya said matter-of-factly when she had finished treating Buffy's hand. She was not being sarcastic or snide – just honest, as usual.

Xander had told her that she got "testy" with him much too often. She had asked him what "testy" meant, and he had told her that it meant irritable and impatient and getting upset over little, insignificant things – and sighed in exaggerated irritation at having to explain yet another "obvious" detail of human life to her.

Anya thought Xander was the testy one.

Buffy nodded slowly, her eyes wide and solemn. "I – I think so," she said in a near whisper. "Anya – Anya, it's awful. I don't know – I don't know why I'm doing the things I'm doing – and Spike – Anya, I can't believe what I just…oh, God…" she moaned softly, lowering her head to run her fingers back quickly through her hair in a gesture of helpless, tense frustration.

"Um, Buffy – you're starting up with the incoherence and not making sense," Anya informed her, not unkindly. "Please back up a little. What exactly did you do?"

Buffy looked back up at her, a bit startled. The thought of actually telling Anya about the little scene that had just taken place in her kitchen was horrifying to her. She could scarcely believe it herself, it had been so vicious and pointlessly cruel. She did not want anyone to know about the horrible, heartless things she had just done.

But Anya knew more about the whole situation than anyone else. If there was anyone that Buffy could talk to about this at the moment, it would be her.

And she desperately needed someone to talk to.

"I hurt him, Anya," she whispered in a voice that sounded lost and scared. "I – I just – I treated him like – like he was nothing. I hurt him – and – and I enjoyed it." The look in her eyes was horrified, disbelieving.

Anya was alarmed by her words, coming to the quick conclusion that maybe this time – maybe Buffy was right. Maybe her personal predicament actually was a bit more important than the broken door.

"Buffy," she said slowly, cautiously, her eyes focused in a concerned frown on the wide, anxious eyes of the Slayer. "Is Spike all right?"

Buffy's distant eyes appeared to be focused on a memory, rather than the girl sitting beside her on the couch, watching her warily. She looked up at her, shaking her head a little as she said, "What? Oh…yes…I mean…I think so. I didn't – I didn't hurt him – too bad."

She shook her head again, her words driving home the reality of what had happened – that she had to even say that she didn't hurt him "too bad". Why had she hurt him at all?

"Oh, my God. Anya, what's happening to me?" she asked in a desperate, pleading voice, her eyes downcast.

"I don't know," Anya replied slowly. "But Buffy – it sounds like this is getting serious. You really need to tell Giles, and we need to figure this out. Before – someone – gets hurt. Worse." She paused, hesitant, before she asked, "What exactly did you do?"

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, then just shook her head again before resting it in her hands. "I can't, Anya…I can't even begin to explain it. It wasn't all even – it wasn't all -- physical…I mean…you really would have had to have been there." She paused, releasing a soft, dark laugh. "But I'm really glad you weren't."

Anya was silent, waiting for her to go on.

Suddenly, Buffy looked up, eyes wide with a dawning idea. "Anya – I don't think I need to be alone with Spike right now. I mean – it feels like I can't – can't keep control around him. But – but I want to be sure he's – okay. Could you go back to the house with me? Maybe if someone else is there, I won't – I mean…"

"Of course," Anya replied immediately.

By now she was quite concerned herself about Spike's condition, and with Buffy being all vague and cryptic with her responses, she knew she was not going to really find out anything useful from the Slayer. Not yet, anyway. Maybe Spike would be a bit more forthcoming about what had happened.

Bloody hell, what just happened here? Spike wondered, his mind racing as he paced frenetically back and forth across the Slayer's living room, playing over the sequence of events again and again in his head – skipping a few parts for the sake of his own peace of mind.

The startling but exciting question of what could possibly have happened to keep his chip from firing was a welcome distraction from the more disturbing questions regarding Buffy's cruel, vicious behavior toward him. He shuddered even to remember the words she had said to him, the way she had gloated and mocked him about his feelings for her – the power that she held over him because of her claim.

The pain from the burns on his back – already almost healed – was nothing compared to the merciless things she had said to him, driving home the point with brutal clarity that he meant absolutely nothing to her. In her absence, he felt his anger rising in response to his hurt, a sense of outrage at the sheer cruelty of it, at the way she had used him, taken liberties with his body and his emotions, only to toss him aside like so much used up garbage.

Well, he would show her! He did not know why or how it had happened, but things were different now! He didn't know if his chip would still fire if he attempted to harm another human – if it was him or the Slayer that had changed – but one thing was certain. The chip had not fired when he had tried to hurt Buffy -- which left him free to try to hurt her again, if he so chose. Nothing to hold him back.

Except for the bloody claim.

It occurred to him with a sense of dismay that the physical ability to hurt Buffy without experiencing excruciating pain was fairly useless, considering the fact that she could stop him with a single, authoritative command, such as she had delivered several times since the claim had been made – and then proceed to deliver the excruciating pain that the chip would not.

You can fight it, mate, he encouraged himself. It's not bloody impossible to disobey her. Just – bloody difficult is all – you can do it.

But he remembered the irresistible compulsion he had felt to obey her commands before – and knew with a sinking feeling in his stomach that even if he could manage to resist the compulsion of the claim and disobey her, the struggle it would cause him would be enough to allow her to easily gain the upper hand again – causing this scenario to also end in excruciating pain.

Bugger.

He was still lost in his own thoughts, trying to think of a way to use this new-found freedom, small though it seemed in light of his entire situation, to his advantage, when he heard the sound of the Slayer's key in the door.

When he saw Anya come in behind Buffy, he was relieved that he had taken time to put his shirt back on after Buffy had left. In the wake of her vicious attack, he had simply felt too vulnerable and exposed, and the chafing fabric against the wounds on his back and his throat was small price to pay for a shred of dignity and security.

And with that thought, came a new sense of anger at the girl who had taken those things from him in the first place. Why should he feel relieved that he had put on the shirt and covered the evidence of the things she had done to him – covered her sins? It would serve her right if he let Demon Girl see every single mark she had left on him these past few days! Out the Slayer for the depraved, cruel little bint she had turned out to be!

But he knew in his heart that he could not do that. Besides the fact that his own pride would not allow him to let anyone see the abuse she had dealt him, there was a part of him that for some reason, wanted to protect her from the shame of the revelation. Maybe it was the claim – maybe something else – but in spite of himself, he wanted to spare Buffy the embarrassment.

His thoughts were cut short when his eyes met those of the Slayer – wide and searching as she stared at him, her expression grave. He nodded curtly at her and turned away, fiddling nervously with some object that he did not even see on one of the living room end tables.

The sound of Anya's cell phone ringing broke the silence, and she took it out, frowning at the caller ID screen – then smiling as she saw who it was. She held up an apologetic finger to Buffy as she opened it and spoke into the phone.

As was typical for Anya and Xander's conversations, it only took a few moments for the conversation to turn – well, personal. "Excuse me for a second," Anya said to Buffy with a silly, giddy smile, heading for the porch. At Buffy's alarmed look she added, "I'll be right back, I promise."

She stepped outside, closing the door behind her – leaving Buffy alone with her sins.

Spike had not missed Anya's apologetic tone, the way she had stressed to Buffy reassuringly that she would not be long. "Scared to be alone with me, Slayer?" he said in a quietly mocking tone, not turning toward her or even looking up as he continued to toy with the knick-knacks on the end table.

"Hardly," Buffy scoffed with a harsh little laugh, before she even thought about it, only realizing the mistake of that response when she saw Spike's almost imperceptible flinch at the disparaging tone of her voice.

He looked up at her, some indistinguishable emotion mingled with the unmistakable fire of anger in his eyes. "Well maybe you should be," he said softly.

Buffy was startled by the bold response, the first defiance she had seen in Spike since the claim. Well – the second, she amended in her mind – the first being that shove in the kitchen earlier.

This comment evoked the same response in her, though she fought once again to suppress it. Her eyes narrowed in anger, something in her rising up and calling for her to drive that insolence and rebellion out of him. He was supposed to be submissive to her – to obey her without question – not to defy her openly like this. A part of her wanted to walk over to him and strike him down for his audacity.

And that part of her terrified the rest of her.

She stayed where she was for a moment, afraid to approach him – not because of his threatening words, but because she was afraid of what she might do. An inner war raged within her, her sense of morality and her concern for this creature before her that was so thoroughly hers, battling with the dark rage that was new and frightening to her, and yet felt so much a part of her – as if it had always been there.

Spike watched her closely, trying to gauge her response to his words. He was well aware that it had been dangerous, but a part of him wanted to provoke her. He was torn, wanting to test the limits of the claim and use his new-found freedom from the chip – at least where Buffy was concerned – to make her pay for abasing and violating him as she had done.

And yet, he knew that at this point that would hardly be wise. If she managed – which she easily could – to subdue him with the authority of her command, he would be at her mercy again, the only change being that she would know about the malfunctioning of his chip – and she would be seriously pissed off.

She laughed softly, and he heard a dangerous note in the sound. He could see the anger in her eyes, though it was still restrained, as she replied quietly, "I don't think so, Spike." She paused. "Maybe I'm just tiring of your company."

He suppressed another flinch at her harsh words, and studied her face for a moment longer before making his expression indifferent and shrugging his shoulders. "Perhaps you're right." He turned his back on her again, returning his attention to the end table. "I know I'm tiring of yours."

It was a lie. He needed her, and he knew it. Her words had hurt terribly, and he was only trying to defend his already badly injured emotions by shooting them back at her.

Apparently they hit their mark.

He heard and sensed her sudden approach, spinning around to face her just as she reached him, leaning back over the end table as she moved in close to him with a calm, controlled smile.

"Are you?" she asked softly, reaching a hand out – and he knew what her goal was.

And he was determined not to let her achieve it. Not this time. His hand rose quickly to cover the vulnerable spot on his throat, covered by the turtleneck he was wearing, but he knew still open to her touch – unless he made it otherwise. As difficult as it was, knowing the terrifying fury he would see there, he made himself meet her eyes firmly, calmly.

Her eyes were wide with stunned, incredulous anger. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked in a dangerously soft voice, pressing in closer, her hand reaching back to grip his hair at the back of his head, pulling his head back in a threatening way.

He could feel the power of her possessive rage, her fury at his daring to deny her what was hers – mingled with his own desire for her touch. The mark beneath his hand burned, ached, with a physical longing for her. But he was determined to be strong. He would not let her do again what she had done that morning.

His breathing quickened slightly, involuntarily, and he closed his eyes – but he did not move his hand. "Don't rightly know, love," he admitted in a voice just above a whisper. "But I know what you're not doing. Not this time."

She was silent for a moment, not moving or making a sound, and he waited in breathless anticipation, unsure of how she would react, his mind racing ahead. He was well aware that he might be fighting a losing battle, if he resorted to brute force to get her way. True, he could fight her now. But the moment he removed his protecting hand from her mark, it would be vulnerable to her again.

And he knew that if she managed to touch him there – the battle would be lost in an instant.

Suddenly, the front door opened again, and Anya came back inside, closing her cell phone and putting it away. She froze when she saw the little scene – the Slayer, and her vampire mate, backed up against the wall in their tense little stand off that had barely begun.

"Um…sorry, Buffy…that was Xander," Anya said slowly. "I – kind of needed to take that." She paused before adding pointedly, emphatically, "But I'm here now. So…"

Buffy's hand in Spike's hair slowly eased, then slid down to the back of his neck, rubbing slowly for a moment in a gesture that might have been affection, before releasing him completely.

She knew what she was doing. The slight massaging motion of her hand pulled at the mark under his hand, though she didn't actually touch it, and as her hand moved away, he felt a deep desire to back down – to uncover the mark to her and let her touch him, let her do whatever she wanted – if only she'd fill the craving building again deep inside him.

But the cold smirk in her eyes as he opened his to look at her told him that she wouldn't, even if he let her – even if he begged her to.

"Fine," she said in a soft voice of unconcern, with a little shrug, as she stepped back, easing the relentless pressure of her nearness to him. "Have it your way, Spike." She paused, adding under her breath as she moved away, "We'll see how long that lasts."

His heart sank as she moved away from him to approach Anya, the little encounter – and him – seemingly forgotten completely.

He mattered that little to her.

And he wondered, as her last words echoed in his mind, if he would prove to be strong enough to resist the pull of her claim, the powerful desire for her that remained in spite of the cruel way she had treated him. Even now, a part of him longed to go to her, to tell her that he had changed her mind, and beg her to touch him.

He had to be strong, he told himself, almost desperately. He had to resist her. But as she spoke to Anya for a moment, and then headed up the stairs at a slow, leisurely pace, without so much as a glance in his direction, he knew that it was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

The limits of his strength were going to be severely tested.


	18. Chapter 18

Spike's heart sank as he watched the Slayer walking away from him up the stairs, a sense of panic rising in him that made something inside him want to run after her, to throw himself down in her path, at her feet, and beg her not to leave him.

And that made him bloody furious.

He was trying with everything in him to resist the power of her claim – to fight the overwhelming desire for her that was slowly but steadily consuming him – and yet he only wanted her more with every moment. She had done nothing but treat him like garbage from the moment she had made her claim. He should despise her, should find it easy to deny her the touch she had sought.

But it wasn't easy – not at all. He craved her like he craved blood. More.

He hated the way she made him feel, the power she held over him, and wanted desperately to prove to her that he could resist – to make her be the one to long for him. He had seen the desire in her eyes when she looked at him, and he had heard what Anya had said in Buffy's kitchen. No matter how cool and controlled she tried to be, he knew the truth.

Buffy wanted him.

And that gave him power over her as well – however slight. If he could just hold out longer than she could – he could manage to gain back a bit of his dignity – to break her hold over him, at least in some small way. But as he watched her slowly disappear up the stairs, without so much as a backward glance in his direction – while he could not take his eyes off her – he knew that he was not likely to win this particular little battle of wills.

I am so completely buggered.

A helpless sense of rage began to come over him. He wanted to beat her senseless – to fly at her with the fists and fangs she thought were useless, and remind her of who and what he really was. And yet – he didn't, and not just because he was afraid she might overpower him. Somehow it felt – wrong – to attack her.

And that thought in itself was troubling. No – infuriating.

Whatever the Slayer had done, had she so messed with his mind that the idea of fighting her no longer seemed like a good one? He was William the Bloody, the soddin' Slayer of Slayers!

What the bleedin' hell had she done to him?

"Spike…" He barely registered the quiet, cautious voice as Anya approached him, watching him carefully. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed, not looking at her, trying to control the violent fury that rose up in him, his demon's rebellion at the realization of how thoroughly dominated he was. When a soft hand came to rest on his arm, trying to pull him out of his thoughts and back to the situation at hand, he shook it forcefully off.

Concerned not only by Buffy's alarming behavior, but by the way Spike's body was trembling with powerful repressed emotion, by his obvious state of upset, Anya pressed forward. "Spike," she repeated insistently. "Did she hurt you? Are you okay?" As she spoke she moved in closer, thinking that she was still dealing with the chipped, harmless vampire that they had all become accustomed to during the past few weeks, and touched his arm again.

That assumption – and the touch – was a mistake.

"Just leave me be!" Spike snarled at her, gripping her wrist and yanking her hand off of him, before propelling her backward a few steps away from him with a hard shove.

Anya seemed more insulted and irritated than intimidated. She looked at her sore wrist for a moment, rubbing it resentfully as she said in an annoyed, questioning voice, "Okay…ow?"

Spike glanced up at her grudgingly, feeling bad already in spite of himself. After all, Anya had only been trying to be kind. And besides, he was beginning to think that the pretty little ex-demon might be the only one who could help him in this situation he had found himself in – that is, if he didn't scare her off by hurting her before she could.

Hurting her…

Oh, bollocks!

Anya's eyes widened with realization, and her gaze and tone became accusing as she repeated, "Ow!" The exclamation was a statement of fact, more than of pain.

She looked with suddenly wide, shocked eyes toward the stairs where Buffy had disappeared, and Spike realized with alarm that she was considering calling for the Slayer. He couldn't blame the girl. She had just discovered that she was alone with a powerful master vampire who was free to hurt her any time he chose to – and she had no reason to believe that he would not choose to.

He moved with lightning speed, catching Anya's arm and pushing her back against the wall, his hand covering her mouth tightly. "Anya," he began urgently, his voice hushed as he looked her in the eye, desperately trying to make her understand. "Please listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you…aauuggh!"

He tried to muffle his own yell of pain as the feisty redhead bit down hard on his hand, well aware that they were only a few yards from the stairs, and not wanting Buffy to hear and come down.

As he shook his injured hand with a hiss of pain, Anya actually laughed as she declared, "You better believe you're not gonna hurt me! Let go!" As she spoke, she struggled to break his strong grip on her arm, her voice rising with her agitation. "You better.. mmmfff!"

Spike planted his hand firmly over her mouth again, pressing her back against the wall as he insisted in a desperate whisper, "Stop it, you silly bint, are you daft? I'm not going to hurt you! I just want to talk to you!"

Amazingly, Anya suddenly stopped struggling, her wide green eyes searching his.

"Please," he whispered, feeling a premature sense of relief that she seemed to be listening. "I need to talk to you. I need you…to help me."

Anya nodded slowly, her eyes serious and focused on his. Cautiously, he let go of her, his hand hovering over her mouth for a moment before moving away, as he began to feel more sure of her cooperation. He stepped back slightly, giving her room to move – which turned out to be a mistake.

He noticed the intent, vengeful look on her face a moment too late, as she delivered a hard kick to his shin with the pointed toe of her red pump. She was nowhere near as strong as he was, but she was mad, and the blow had caught him by surprise. He bent over with a groan, his hand going to his bruised leg, and she took the opportunity to take back her freedom of movement completely, slipping out from between Spike and the wall.

Assuming that she was going to call for Buffy first thing, Spike hurriedly gasped, his words coming out in a desperate rush, "If you tell her about the chip, I'm dead, Anya, please don't tell her, the girl's not right, she'll kill me…"

When he heard no response, he looked up, his hands resting on his knees, expecting to see the ex-vengeance demon already halfway up the stairs – and was surprised to see her still standing there staring at him, arms crossed impassively over her chest. Her expression was half irritation, half triumph at her escape – but not the least bit scared.

"I know that, Spike," she said with exaggerated patience. "Buffy's a few fries short of a Happy Meal right now. I'm not about to tell her about the chip just so she can beat the crap out of you again, now that you're even more pathetically helpless than you were with the chip."

"Gee," Spike muttered, standing up straight, slowly, holding her gaze. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied, missing the sarcasm completely.

"So why'd you bloody kick me?" he demanded in irritation, barely managing to keep a pouting sound out of his voice that only would have contributed to her "pathetic and helpless" assessment of him.

She gave him a look that said clearly that she had just added "clueless" to the list.

"You threw me against the wall and covered my mouth, like I was some helpless little girl about to become your next snack!" she reminded him incredulously.

"One," he pointed out in exasperation, counting on his fingers as he spoke in a loud whisper, still very conscious of the Slayer upstairs. "You were gonna tell Buffy. And two – if I'm so bloody helpless," he added with a smirk. "why were you scared anyway? And three – you are a helpless little girl now, Anyanka." He knew he was taking his anger out on the wrong woman – projecting his own insecurities onto her – but it still felt bloody good.

Anya was silent for a moment before responding calmly, holding his gaze with a look that was very serious, "Points one, two, and three – I am over a thousand years old. I was once a powerful demon renowned for my skill and artistry when it came to exacting vengeance on arrogant, over-confident, over-aggressive males who thought they could push women around just because they were bigger than them!"

As she spoke, her tone intense, she stepped closer to Spike, and he was surprised to find that he actually took a step back. This was a new side to Anya. She was not threatening him, he knew, and he was not afraid – but there was a new sense of – respect – building in him for her as she went on.

"Therefore, after a thousand years dealing with men who like to hurt women, I know every possible self-defense technique known to man, and some that aren't – so as for being scared of you…" She shook her head and laughed softly before going on, her smile fading completely as she made her third point.

"And I recognize an unstable, emotionally unbalanced woman when I see one. And for whatever reason – Buffy's not exactly stable at the moment."

"Bloody right, she's unstable!" Spike replied, a slight tremor in his voice as his mind played back over the events of the past few days. "Don't know what's wrong with her! I mean, she's always been a raging bitch whose greatest joy was to make my life an unloving hell, but – but she's always…" He hesitated, unsure how to finish the statement.

"Had a reason?" Anya suggested, with just the hint of a smile.

He shot her a dark look – followed by a little half-shrug as he admitted, "Well – yeah. But – I – I haven't been doing anything to – to make her act this…" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard, half turning away from Anya in embarrassment as he felt his emotions rising up in him and valiantly fought them back down.

Bloody hell, but the bint's done a number on me!

"Something is definitely wrong with her, Spike," Anya said, her tone gentler now, and she moved instinctively closer to him. "You're right. She wasn't like this before. She said she feels like something else is controlling her. Something went wrong with the ritual. That must be why your chip stopped working, too. But whatever it is, we – we need to figure it out. I'm trying to get Buffy to tell Giles what happened, so – so he can help us find the answer…"

Spike scoffed, a soft, huffing sound in his throat. "Good luck with that," he muttered. "Slayer'd rather dust me and be done with it than admit to her Watcher what she did to me. Not that he'd care anyway. Let the Slayer have her fun, he'd say. After all, it's only Spike." He paused, his sarcastic tone vanishing as he finished softly, "He bloody well deserves it."

Anya had no response. She knew he was probably right – on all counts.

"Besides," he added suddenly, looking up at her speculatively, "what do you need the Watcher for, anyway, Miss 'I'm a bloody scary former demon with centuries of ancient knowledge – fear me!'?" His tone was mocking, but not cruelly so.

And he had a point.

She frowned thoughtfully. Maybe you're right," she said. "I can start looking into it myself, use some of my old contacts, see if I can't figure it out on my own, since she won't go to Giles. Yet."

"Not on your own," Spike corrected her. "I'm with you all the way on this one, Anyanka." Now, the use of her old name was a sign of respect, rather than mockery. He recognized that she had the ability to help him, and appreciated that she seemed willing to do so.

"Only," he hesitated, a little grimace passing his lips as he met her eyes. "When you say – old contacts – well – I really – don't want it to get out in the demon community that I'm – well…"

"The Slayer's love slave?" Anya supplied again.

The little chit was altogether too helpful.

"The chip thing is bad enough – and I know that's got to be making the circuit as we speak," he went on without confirming or denying her words.

Anya nodded. "I'll be discreet."

"Do you even know what that word means?" he asked her, but his tone was teasing in a kind way, and his smile was more open than it had been before. It was just such a relief to have found an ally in this miserable situation he was in.

"Yes," Anya muttered darkly. "I hear it every time I open my mouth around Xander."

"Wanker," Spike muttered, irritated at the thought of the Slayer's obnoxious friend. He had fortunately not spent that much time around him, but even he had noticed how disrespectful the boy tended to be to Anya.

Anya diplomatically ignored the comment and turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. "So – sometimes she's normal, but other times she turns all psycho on you. Have you noticed what might be setting her off?"

Spike thought for a moment before replying with mild sarcasm, "Every time I move or speak?"

"Seriously, Spike." Anya's tone was slightly impatient, and he dutifully thought it over again. "She told me," Anya offered. "that it set her off when you tried to leave."

"Did it ever," he agreed with a wide-eyed nod at the memory. "And – yeah, that's what happened this morning, too! So – that would be the common thread, then?"

"What happened in here?" Anya asked. "A few minutes ago?"

Spike tried to remember. "I – I told her…" A light of understanding dawned in his eyes, as he finished, "I was tired of her."

"She said she feels intensely possessive of you," Anya stated matter-of-factly. "So if she thinks she's gonna lose you – maybe that's what does it."

"Yeah," he sneered his dismissal of that idea. "That's why she goes to such great lengths to make sure I know how much she doesn't need me – how little she actually cares!"

Anya heard the pain, the loneliness in his voice, but did not know what to say to make it better. She opted to simply move the conversation along again. "So maybe it's not that. Maybe it's just…"

"Control," Spike finished for her this time, the pieces clicking together in his mind. "It's when I resist her. When I try to overcome her claim."

"She wants you to submit completely. Absolute power over you," Anya concluded softly.

"Not bloody likely," Spike muttered, but his tone was defensive, and as he spoke his hand rose unconsciously to rub gently over the mark on his throat.

Any caught the gesture, her eyes focused on the spot. It was covered by his turtleneck, but she knew what Buffy had told her about biting Spike, and she knew about the power of a blood bond, and where it lay.

"She's already got it, Spike," she said softly.

When he noticed her eyes focused on his throat, he quickly lowered his hand. "What are you talking about?" he asked quietly, his eyes averted.

"It's a blood bond. She's marked you and claimed you – and you accepted it. That gives her the power." She stepped closer to him, seeking his eyes. "But you already knew that – didn't you?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his expression saying clearly how much he longed to deny the truth of her words. But finally, he nodded, placing his hand back over the spot on his neck, aching now with his longing for her, as he whispered, "I – I can't help it. It's like – something inside me is – is crying out for her. Needs her. I try to fight it, but – but something in me wants to submit. To – to be -- hers."

The longing ache in his whispered words tore at Anya's heart, and she found herself reaching out, a gentle hand on his arm.

This time he did not pull away from her.

"We're gonna figure out a way to fix this, Spike," she assured him with surprising compassion. "It's gonna be all right. We're gonna find out what's happening to Buffy so we can stop it. Okay?"

He nodded – not believing a word of it. He had to admit, though, he did appreciate her concern. It felt so good to have someone around who actually cared about what he was going through.

"Why?" he asked suddenly, his voice a hoarse whisper as he met her eyes, tears in his own.

She didn't have to ask what he meant. "Because I know what it's like," she said softly, sadly. "To lose everything…overnight. To – to not even be who you were anymore…"

Spike felt a lump rising up in his throat, realizing that it was true. Anya was possibly the only one he knew who possibly could understand what it was like – to be powerful and in control one moment, and utterly helpless the next.

He met her solemn green eyes with gratitude in his own, and opened his mouth to put it into words.

And in the next moment, the Slayer's voice broke the silence from the stairs, her voice light, amused – but tinged with a subtle undercurrent of anger.

"Well. Isn't this…cozy."


	19. Chapter 19

"Well, isn't this just a Kodak moment." Buffy smiled disarmingly as she left the stairs and started casually toward Anya and Spike. Her smile faded to a soft expression of concern, as she registered the tears in Spike's eyes, the weighted atmosphere of the room, and she asked sympathetically, "What's wrong? Something I should know?"

But there was an odd note in her voice that was not quite sincere.

Anya suddenly noticed that Buffy's intent gaze had fastened on the place where her hand rested on Spike's arm, and withdrew it quickly, taking a step away from the vampire as she turned to face the Slayer fully.

"Everything's okay, Buffy," she answered automatically, but then reconsidered, her jaw setting with resolve as she met her eyes squarely and amended in a grim voice, "No. Everything's not okay. Buffy – we need to talk. We need to figure out what's going on here before someone gets hurt…"

As she was speaking, Buffy moved slowly nearer to her and Spike, and Anya instinctively moved between the Slayer and the vampire her attention was focused on, aware of the subtle threat being directed at him.

Buffy's eyes rose to meet those of the ex-demon with a sort of surprised, amused smile – which slowly became a look of challenge as she said softly, "Excuse me," and tried to move past Anya, holding her gaze the whole time.

Anya moved with her, blocking her path – not about to back down. "Wait," she said firmly. "Buffy, listen to me. You have a problem. Something went wrong with the ritual, and you're – you're not yourself. You're doing things that are dangerous, and you need – you need to get control, Buffy." Anya released the final words in a rush with a long, slow breath, her eyes earnestly searching the Slayer's for some sign of understanding.

"But I am in control." Buffy smiled, and something in her eyes chilled Anya's blood, as she realized that the person she was speaking to was probably telling the truth – she just wasn't sure if it was really Buffy.

"Anya, really, everything's fine," maybe-not-Buffy insisted with a little laugh. "I was just upstairs practicing some meditation techniques Will taught me, and I'm feeling much calmer now. Please, Anya, I just need to talk to Spike for a minute." Her tone said clearly that she was losing patience, and was moments away from forcing the issue.

Spike knew that she was lying through her teeth. She was no more calm now than she had been when she had left the room. He tensed at her last words, feeling a sense of dread come over him. He could feel the anger rolling off the Slayer, knew that the "talk" she had in mind would not be a pleasant one – not for him. And his emotions were so near to the surface at the moment, her fury and power so palpable, that he knew resistance would not be an option if she managed to get him alone.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now," Anya spoke quietly but firmly as she bravely blocked Buffy's advance again, as she tried to step past her.

Spike was both amazed and horrified by her courage in standing up to Buffy – because there was no way that Anya could hope to actually stop her if Buffy was determined to get to him.

And the Slayer was getting angry.

"Get out of my way," she said in a soft voice, with just a hint of menace.

Anya took a deep breath, before answering in a voice that was strong, with just a slight tremor to it, "No."

Buffy's smile vanished, her eyes narrowing in undisguised anger at the attempt to prevent her from getting to her vampire. Spike recognized that dark, possessive gleam in her eyes, knew that the primal force that had driven the Slayer to claim him was now furious at the interfering girl who was trying to keep her from him.

Anya had no idea of the danger she was putting herself in.

Against his better judgment, without really thinking it through, Spike did the first thing that came to mind. As usual.

He stepped forward, taking Anya's arm firmly and pulling her back as he moved forward to face Buffy, much to Anya's surprise and dismay.

"Spike," she protested. "No…she's…"

"Anya," he interrupted, firmly, calmly, hoping his fear did not show in his eyes. "It's all right. She just wants to talk. So let's – give the lady what she wants." The last few words were spoken slowly, deliberately, in a slightly mocking tone, but he held her gaze as he spoke and hoped she would understand what he was trying to say.

Buffy wanted power. It was his defiance before that had caused her to become violent, and he knew that if Anya persisted in trying to keep her from him, it would have the same result now. His best hope at this point, until they could figure out how to stop what was happening, was to give her the submission she desired before she resorted to violence to get it.

Anya searched his eyes for a long moment, and seemed to understand – but still did not seem pleased. She did not want to leave him at Buffy's mercy, but realized that physically, she could do little to protect him. If she attempted to, she would likely be badly hurt herself, and it would not do Spike any good at all.

Slowly, reluctantly, she took a step backward, looking away, very unhappy with the situation, as Spike moved cautiously toward Buffy, forcing a casual smile which the Slayer did not return. She was still looking at the other woman – the perceived threat to her claim.

"Really, Anya, everything's okay now. We're gonna be fine," she assured her, just as Spike came within her reach, and she caught his arm in a firm, almost painful grip that made him flinch slightly as she pulled him closer to her. "I'll just see you at the meeting."

Anya was alarmed by the dismissal, aware that if Buffy was herself, she would not want Anya to leave. That was why she had invited her over in the first place. She did not want to leave Spike here alone with Buffy – but she was aware that angering the unstable Slayer would be just as dangerous – for both of them.

"I – I don't have anywhere I need to be," she shrugged in an attempt at casual. "I could hang around for a little while…"

"Or you could…not…" Buffy pointed out with a cold, false smile, and Spike could feel the possessive rage building up inside her, threatening to explode – knew that if Anya did not leave now, Buffy would likely throw her out bodily. And her increased anger at having to do so would not bode well for him, either.

"Anya," he said quietly, his eyes averted. "Go."

"But…"

"Just go," he interrupted in a gentle but firm voice, appreciative of her desire to help him – but aware that she could not, not this way.

Each step seemed to take forever as Anya reluctantly walked to the door.

"See you at the meeting," Buffy repeated, her tone friendly again now that she had gotten her way, smiling at the retreating form of the girl as she walked out the door.

The door had barely closed behind Anya when Buffy whirled around, gripping Spike's free arm in her hand and slinging him hard against the nearest wall, right at the base of the stairs. His eyes closed and he swallowed hard, biting back a groan of pain as he felt the heat of her nearness as she pressed in close to him.

She didn't say anything for a long moment, as he felt her warm hands sliding slowly up his arms, her touch surprisingly gentle, but powerful, restraining – intensely possessive.

"Mine," she whispered, her voice almost tender, holding only a trace of the threat that had filled it before.

"Yes," he agreed, nodding slowly, his eye still averted and downcast. "Yes, Buffy." He was determined not to do anything to make her angry, to submit and do whatever he could to keep her calm, until he and Anya could get the chance to find out what was happening to her.

But as soon as her hand began to move upward toward her mark, he felt a sense of panic come over him. He could still feel her anger, and knew the pain that she could cause him with a single touch. If she touched him, he would be helpless – completely at her mercy.

His hand rose quickly, reaching to cover the mark, but Buffy was expecting it this time. Her demeanor changed again in an instant, as she caught his wrists with lightning speed and brought them together between them, crossed against his stomach and pinned with one of her strong hands. With the other she shoved him forcefully back against the wall again with a warning snarl, and he immediately ceased his struggling, though his entire body was trembling with dread – and desire.

He knew that she could hurt him, badly, and probably intended to. And yet – he craved her touch so desperately, the very touch he had denied her before. Her mark ached with her nearness, and his own longing, yearning for contact – even if the touch was cruel and punishing.

She kept his wrists pinned with one hand, her body pressed against him preventing his escape, as she traced a slow line with her fingertips, back up his arm to his shoulder, stopping a bare inch from her covered mark, studying his face impassively.

His eyes were closed, his lips parted and trembling as he gasped for breath, overwhelmed by the mere anticipation of her touch. As her hand neared its goal, he instinctively bared his throat to her in submission and need. His actions were a contradiction, he knew – first attempting to prevent her from touching him at all, and then silently begging for the very same touch – but so were his emotions.

He wanted her, and he feared her – craved her touch, and dreaded it – rebelled against her claim, and yet longed to submit. As her fingers traced a slow, torturous circle around the outer edge of her mark, he fought dual impulses, both to jerk free of her restraining hands and escape – and to press into her touch, to urge her on to more.

Submit, he reminded himself urgently. Submit, submit… he repeated over in his head, trying to make himself remember what he had decided would be his best means of escaping this encounter unharmed.

A cool smile playing over her lips, Buffy slowly made the circle she was tracing smaller and smaller, edging nearer to the aching place he longed for her to touch – but not touching it. And then, suddenly, she removed her hand completely.

He fought back a whimper of frustration, leaning unconsciously nearer to her hand, which responded by gripping his hair and shoving his head back against the wall again, holding him there for a moment to indicate that she did not want him to move, before releasing him, leaning in to speak softly near his ear.

"I thought you didn't want me to touch you there, Spike." Her voice was softly mocking, with a hint of vindictive anger in her tone, and her warm breath teased the spot, already highly sensitive from her touch.

"No," he whispered desperately, his former resolve forgotten. "Buffy, please, I need you – I – I want you to touch me, please…" he babbled out the words in a desperate, breathless rush. "Please, Buffy, please, Buffy…" Reason, pride, had fled; all he was conscious of was the urgent need she had driven him to, and was now so viciously withholding.

"You let her touch you." The simple statement was an accusation, as the Slayer suddenly stepped back, breaking the contact between them completely, cold eyes narrowed on him in anger.

Though the press of her body against his, the forced closeness, had been oppressive and unsettling, he felt her absence, the loss of contact, like a physical pain, starting at the abandoned, desperate mark, and coursing through his body with a sense of cold fear, at the thought that perhaps he had crossed a line, made her so angry that she no longer wanted him at all.

He had heard of one or two claimed vampires who had been abandoned – rejected – by their claimants, cast aside, no longer considered worthy of their affections. The loneliness, the agony of rejection, had driven those vampires mad with the unrelenting, unfulfilled need of the claims that still bound them, regardless of the presence of their claimants.

As those old stories raced through his head with a sense of panic at Buffy's withdrawal, his greatest fear, of spending the rest of his existence belonging to the volatile, powerful Slayer, was replaced by a greater fear – of not belonging to her, of having her, now that she had claimed him, decide that she had made a terrible mistake and no longer wanted him.

"Please – please, Buffy…" he whispered, moving forward without realizing he was even doing it, just desperate to fill the awful gap between them.

She cut him off suddenly with a hard hand at his throat, slamming him back into the wall with frightening power, cutting off his unneeded oxygen as she leaned in close again and snarled in a low, menacing voice, "Don't. Move."

He shook his head emphatically in a silent promise, and she loosened her hold, but did not let him go completely, pressing in closer to him as she demanded in a low voice of terrifying fury, "Which is it, Spike? You want me to touch you? Or not?"

"Yes, yes," he gasped out, the words almost a sob. "I need you, need you, Buffy, I want you to touch me, please!"

He was desperate already, but driven to further urgency of need as her thumb, resting just over her mark, lowered slightly to slide over the soft material that covered it in the lightest ghost of a touch, and he let out a soft moan of mingled pleasure and pleading.

"You sure?" she taunted with a hard, angry smile of triumph. "You wouldn't rather it was someone else?" As she spoke she lifted her thumb so that she was no longer touching him.

"No," he pleaded. "No – no one else, Buffy! I don't want anyone but you, only you, Buffy! Only you!"

Her hand on his throat softened, then slid around to the back of his neck, fisting in his hair and pulling his head back slightly as she pressed in closer, one hand slipping possessively around his waist and pulling him closer to her.

She held his gaze with smoldering fury and desire in her own, as she whispered, "Yes. Only me. Only mine, Spike. You're mine. And no one else can touch you!"

Her possessive words of ownership stirred a deep longing within him that he had only recently discovered, and unexpectedly sent a rush of blood to his groin. He felt himself hardening against her as he moaned softly, "Buffy – Buffy – you – only yours – no one else…"

His words were cut off again, as she suddenly jerked his head forward, her lips crushing his with a bruising, punishing kiss that pressed him back into the wall again, and caused the swelling bulge of his erection to grow even harder. She smiled against his lips when she felt his reaction to her, her hand at his waist dropping down to grab the back of his thigh and pull him tighter against her, rotating her hips slowly against him as she did.

A soft, strangled cry of pleasure rose from his throat, his lips parted and gasping against hers as she drew him even nearer to her. "Buffy!" he moaned. "God, Buffy!"

"You like that?" she murmured in a low, throaty voice, her smile widening as he nodded weakly, his eyes closed, breathing heavily as he leaned into her embrace.

Her hand in his hair lowered to rub the back of his neck in slow, firm circles, edging again toward the place that marked him as hers. "Buffy," he gasped out. "Buffy…yes….need you, Buffy…"

"Only me," she repeated in a harsh, demanding tone. "Mine! You're mine, Spike! Only mine!"

"Yes," he gasped, a desperate, pleading note in his voice. "Yours, Buffy, only yours…"

Her hand became forceful again, tipping his head back, making him vulnerable to her, as she went on in a low, possessive growl, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his throat just above the mark. "No one else has the right to touch you! No one!"

"No," he gasped out, shaking his head in obedience. "No one else – no one but you – only yours, Buffy – please!"

She knew what it was he was pleading for – both his rebellion and his submission had earned it – as she met his eyes with a dark, feral intensity and repeated forcefully one last time, "Mine!"

"Yes," he whispered, his voice soft and broken with emotion and need. "Yes…yours, Buffy…always yours…"

As before, the complete submission, the total giving of control to her, satisfied the need in her to reiterate the power of her claim, and he watched in wonder and confusion as the primal force within her gradually receded, and she became "just Buffy" again, before his eyes.

Startled, uncertain, she drew back from him slightly, staring at him through wide, stricken eyes.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, taking in his bruised, ravaged mouth, his shaken demeanor and fearful, uncertain eyes. "Spike – I'm so sorry…"

Sorry? he thought, the word sending a fresh pang through him. God, he needed her so much! She had just spent the past few minutes reclaiming him, reaffirming that he was hers, that he mattered to her – and she was sorry?

He could not help the little flinch that went through him at the unintentionally hurtful word. He shook his head slightly, swallowing back a sob.

No…no…she can't change her mind now…she can't just do that and then…no…

"Please," he whispered in the same broken tone he had used moments before. "Please, Buffy…don't…"

She flinched this time, misunderstanding his words, her eyes welling with tears. "Spike, I'm so sorry. I need to just – just stay away…I'm so sorry…" As she spoke, she backed away a few steps, her eyes averted.

She was stunned when a cool, strong hand suddenly caught her arm, pulling her back, and she looked up into wide, panicked blue eyes – so beautiful went through her mind as she nearly lost herself in them.

"Please, Buffy," he whispered desperately, holding her gaze. "Please don't – don't go…"

Her eyes widened and she stared at him in shock at the unexpected plea. "Don't hurt me" she might have expected, after the cruel way she had manhandled and abused him. "Leave me alone" – yes, not a surprise. But that he actually wanted her to stay…

She searched his eyes, startled and awed by the depth of emotion she saw there, the desperate, yearning need – and she remembered what Anya had said. A heavy sense of responsibility came over her as she recalled the words of the ex-demon. Spike needed her – desperately. No matter what she did to him, no matter how badly she treated him, he was still going to crave her, desire her, need her – because of the claim she had made.

She had the sudden realization that leaving, now, denying his plea, would hurt him worse than anything she had done to him thus far.

And the truth was, she realized, taking in the beautiful sight of the creature before her – she wanted him, too. He was hers, she realized anew with a sense of elation and pleasure. Hers to cherish – to protect – to…

"Buffy," Spike whispered, drawing her attention from her thoughts of him, to the reality of him, standing before her, searching her eyes with desperate, open need. "Please…I need you…I need…"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence, because in the next moment, the Slayer's lips were covering his, her arms wrapped around him in an embrace more tender, more intimate, than any she had allowed since the claim. She did not know what she was feeling exactly, or why she was feeling it.

All she knew was that this felt right. And after all the hurt she had caused him, intentional or not, she knew that Spike deserved what she was offering him in this moment – and she would give it to him while she could. After all, she had no idea if in the next moment she would no longer be able to give it to him at all.

And she had a lot to make up for.


	20. Chapter 20

The sweet intensity of that kiss was like nothing Buffy had ever felt before, as Spike's cool mouth yielded to her own, drinking in her kiss with an urgency, a hunger, that took her breath away. Never had she felt so desired – so needed -- as Spike made her feel

Trembling hands hesitantly went to her waist, and she could feel his desperation for closeness, and his fear of daring to anger her by pulling her closer. A pang of guilt went through her; she really could not blame him, after the cruel responses that had met his previous attempts to even touch her at all.

The very thought of the things she had done and said to him was deeply troubling to her, and she knew that she and Spike needed to just sit down and talk -- to try to make sense of what was going on, to try to find a way to somehow put it right, or at least deal with the mess they -- she -- had made of things.

But there had been no mistaking the painful insecurity, the desperate, longing need in his eyes when he had reached for her moments before, when he had begged her not to leave him – and instinctively she knew that he needed this most basic, primal reassurance more than any words that she could speak.

Tenderly she put her arm around his waist, hugging him gently in nearer to her, breaking the kiss to whisper softly, "It's okay. You can touch me, Spike…it's okay…"

The simple permission, the soft affection in her tone, sent a shudder of pleasure and relief through him, as he slowly, almost reverently drew in nearer, his hands at her waist sliding around to embrace her more fully. "Buffy…" he gasped, his voice trembling with uncertainty and need. "Buffy…"

"It's all right," she reassured him, kissing a trail down from his lips to his throat. "It's okay…Spike, I want you – I want you so much!"

As her mouth reached the place where his shirt covered his throat, she began to move back up toward his lips, and was surprised by the soft, pleading whimper that rose in her vampire's throat, as he turned his head slightly, giving her better access to the mark that was crying out, burning for her tuch.

"Please," he whispered, his voice soft, broken, and submissive. She had told him not to push her, that his place was to simply accept what she offered him without making demands of his won – but this was in no way a demand. It was a heartfelt, humble plea. "Buffy – please – please…"

Her green eyes softened on his face, open and vulnerable, desperate for her -- needing her – and without a word she slowly slid the shirt up his body, her eyes darkening, smoldering with desire as he obediently raised his arms to allow her to remove the offending garment, and his glorious body was revealed to her.

She cast the shirt aside with one hand, the other holding one wrist in a gently restraining grip, so that he knew not to move as she returned her free hand to his other wrist, and slowly trailed her hands down his raised arms, sliding down his back and around to run up and down the hard muscle of his flawless ivory chest.

"You're so beautiful," she murmured in an awed tone, her hands returning to his waist to pull him closer as her mouth fell to his throat, kissing and licking delicately, teasingly, around the sensitive flesh of her mark. "And you're mine," she whispered, in a tone of blissful satisfaction. "All mine."

The words had aroused his desire before, when spoken fiercely and possessively. But now, whispered in tenderness and affection, they drove him to a frenzy of need. As she felt his swelling erection against her, she lowered a hand between them to cup it softly, a light squeeze earning a low moan of pleasure, before she raised the hand again to work the zipper of his jeans, her other had moving behind his neck to steady him as his head rolled back, his eyes closed as the increased sensation poured over him.

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, please, Buffy! Please!"

She needed no further encouragement to reaffirm her claim, as she finally made the contact he had craved, soft warm lips caressing her mark in a tender kiss, teeth and tongue gently working at the spot as Spike moaned in an exquisite agony of pleasure.

All his doubts – his fears of her rejection, her cruelty, vanished under the power of the sweet connection they shared in this moment. In her touch he felt her regret at hurting him, her desire to make things right, the tenderness, acceptance, reassurance that he craved.

"Buffy," he gasped. "Yes – need you, Buffy -- God!"

His hands moved up and down her back as he gently pressed her nearer to him, needing her to be closer, to surround him, leaving no space between them. He had forgotten completely her earlier orders not to touch without permission, but that was all right for the moment.

So had she.

His raw need quickened her desire, and she bit down sharply on his throat, not quite breaking the already torn skin – but it was more than enough. She felt his body go slack for a moment, his knees buckling, and only the pressure of her body was holding him up against the wall as he gasped for breath.

She withdrew, and the pleading, strangled little cry she heard in his throat tore at her, called to her, and piqued her arousal. "Come on," she whispered, taking his arm as she backed away a few steps, then turned and hurried up the stairs.

He somehow managed to keep up on weak, trembling legs that seemed to have lost all their strength under the power of her tender ministrations, until she pulled him into her bedroom with an almost frantic urgency, slamming the door hard before grabbing him by the arms and throwing him down on the bed.

He waited, eyes closed, breathless but unafraid, for the return of her touch – but felt nothing. Suddenly fearful and apprehensive, he looked up at her, but did not dare to rise from the bed – and froze completely at what he saw.

It was Buffy, he knew – and not the terrifying version of her that seemed to have so much control lately – but there was a smoldering, possessive desire in her eyes that took his breath away. There was none of the former desire to force him into submission – Why should there be? he thought. He had already given her that.

But there was a powerful desire in her eyes, a need to claim him again, in every possible way – to make him her own, through pleasure and promise, rather than with cruelty and violence.

She held his gaze with the intense look, as she slowly shed her skirt, revealing to him her bare body beneath it. The heat in her jade eyes was scorching as she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it back off of her shoulders, then unfastened her bra and let it slide to the floor as well.

Mine, the thought flew through his mind unbidden, and his eye widened with the realization. No matter what Buffy had said, no matter how viciously she had reinforced her own dominance in the blood bond that held them, the fact remained that he had claimed her, too. She was his. And while his claim did not give him the power that hers held, it was still real, and binding. She was his.

It was a glorious thought.

And then, the capacity for thought left him as the Slayer was upon him, tugging urgently at his jeans to free his body to her touch. He obediently raised his hips to allow her to slide the denim down under him and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor beside the bed.

She leaned down over him, holding his gaze with a smile that was both lustful and tender, as she laid a soft kiss near but not directly on his lips, and whispered, "You want me?" There was a teasing sparkle in her eyes, but no cruelty, and he knew that she had no intention of holding out on him – not this time.

"Yes," he whispered, with a depth of intensity in his voice that drove her to greater need. "Want you so bad, Buffy…need you…"

She slowly rotated her hips above him, so that her body stroked over his sensitive member, without actually taking him in, and he groaned at the torturous pleasure of the sensation. She brought her mouth close enough to brush his ear as she whispered, "You're mine, Spike – my own. Only I can give you what you need. And I'm going to."

The words alone sent a delicious shudder of anticipation through him, just before all at once Buffy fell down onto him, encasing him in her heat, at the same moment, resuming her tender attention to his throat, kissing and laving her mark with her tongue. His hands lowered to her hips to clutch her to him, his own pelvis thrusting up into her without even realizing it, without restraint, as he moaned in pleasure at the overwhelming sensations.

There was no reprimand, no punishment, and he found himself realizing that it was because she wanted his touch – wanted him. Her hold on him was powerful, unbreakable in fact, an at times terrifying – but he had a hold on her, too. The only thing that kept him in submission to her was the fact that she had not returned his claim.

But now, as he stared into hooded, glazed green eyes dark with desire for him, and saw how deeply she wanted him, he began to think – maybe…

He realized he was taking a risk, as he consciously slowed his movements, his hands on her hips clutching tightly and almost stilling her for a moment, meeting her startled eyes with a slow, seductive smirk when she raised her head to look at him questioningly, as he reset their pace, grinding slowly against her in a way that made her suddenly gasp for breath at the pleasure that went coursing through her.

"Buffy," he whispered as his hands pressed her nearer, and she moaned with the feelings he was birthing in her. "Buffy – I can make you feel so good…let me show you, Buffy…let me…"

Her head fell back slightly as she gasped at a slightly harder thrust of his body, and he took that as consent, taking a chance and raising his hands to her arms to roll them over so that he was above her. She looked up at him with an expression resembling panic for a moment, and he saw a glint of something dangerous in her eyes.

He lowered his own in a submissive manner, his grip on her arms loosening as he whispered softly, "Only to please you, Buffy…please let me make it good for you, Buffy…please…only if you want me to…" He knew he was riding a dangerous line here, and did not want to risk angering her, drawing out that strange force in her that strove to punish every defiance. "Please," he whispered. "I only want to please you."

As he spoke, he moved ever so slightly against her, and she let out a soft moan, her head falling back on the pillow and her eyes closing for a moment. She did not speak her permission, but as she laid her head back she pulled him against her, thrusting up toward him urgently.

They were both very near to the edge, as he continued the beautiful rhythm of their bodies together, leaning close to her ear to whisper to her the whole time, "So beautiful, Buffy…so sweet…need you…want to make you happy…forever, Buffy…yours…want you…want you to be…mine…" He paused there, waiting for the dreaded reaction, but the Slayer either was beyond comprehension at this point – or did not have an objection to the words.

Encouraged, he intensified his efforts, felt her inner shuddering as she approached her climax, hesitating as he instantly rethought his plan. But she wanted him so badly – she was weak – she was under the power of the desire for him created by his claim…

Suddenly, his face changed and almost gently, he slid his fangs into her throat, drawing from her with a passionate intensity. She gasped, her eyes shooting open in shock, pain, pleasure, as her orgasm engulfed her.

"Mine!" he growled possessively near her ear. "Say it, Buffy…mine…I'm yours and you're mine…say it!"

"I – I'm…" she gasped, frowning with some inner conflict, shaking her head slightly. "I…"

"Please," he whispered, searching her face for a moment before dropping his fangs to her throat again, savoring the sweet taste of her, as the strength flowed through him. "Mine, Buffy," he whispered, pulling back again. "Mine…mine…"

"Mine," she repeated mindlessly, her voice faint, as if struggling for consciousness through a dense fog, her eyes closed and her head turned, her throat arching up as if seeking his bite again. "Mine…mine…"

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open again, and met his, wide and shocked – and with a total clarity of understanding. He stared at her, trying frantically to read her expression – as it slowly went from stunned understanding, to disappointment – to anger.

"Mine!" she repeated in a whisper that was almost a snarl, with a menace in her tone that told him he had made a serious mistake.

Within an instant their positions were reversed, and she gripped his wrists in her hands, holding them over his head, her satiated body still impaled on his still-erect member as she glared down at him in fury at his attempt to trick her, enraged by his deception and defiance.

He could see the dangerous light in her eyes, and knew that he was in very real danger. He did not try to fight her, aware that a single command from her lips would leave him powerless to fight anymore, and with one more transgression on her list to punish him for.

"Buffy," he whispered, meeting her eyes with a desperate look. "Buffy, please…"

"Shut up!" she snarled, pinning both his wrists with one hand as her other hand drew back and struck him hard, across the face, snapping his head to the side with the force of the blow.

He did not dare to move, closing his eyes and biting his lip to hold back his emotional response. She had not struck him before, not since the claim, and somehow – it was as painful emotionally as physically – an insult, a rejection, a statement of how unworthy and disfavoured he was by his claimant.

"You dare to attempt to defy me again? To try to put me under your power?" she went on, her voice calmer, but trembling with cold rage as she leaned down closer to him, deliberately dipping down lower onto him, rotating slightly and making him moan at the intense sensation, at this point only another indication of her power over him.

"You have no power, vampire," she snarled menacingly, another expert twist of her body, in combination with the tight clenching of her body around him pulling a sharp cry of mingled pain and pleasure from the pinned, helpless vampire beneath her. "You're mine!" she declared furiously. "And you will submit! Mine!"

And with those words, she gripped his hair painfully and yanked his head back as she bit down with brutal strength and ferocity on her mark, drawing his blood and sucking it into her mouth with a fierceness and power that left him breathless and gasping in shock, pain, and pleasure.

The combination of the bite and one last final thrust of her body around him brought him to his own climax, even in the midst of the pain, and he found himself moaning, crying out, sobbing, "Buffy…God, Buffy…yours, Buffy…please…"

The pleasure of the orgasm passed, and still her teeth were clenched in his flesh, viciously tearing at the mark, re-opening the original wound and sending a searing agony through him, leaving him still pleading, but this time for her to stop.

"Buffy…no…Buffy…please, stop…no…sorry…" he sobbed out, his body going slack beneath her, submitting completely, turning his head slightly to silently tell her that he was hers to do with as she would, to torment and punish and rend until her anger was sated, if she so chose – even though he desperately hoped that she would not.

It was then that her fury was gradually sated, and she released her hold on his throat, drawing back. His eyes were closed, his head turned away, and this time he did not witness Buffy's gradual return to herself.

This time, she did not appear as shocked by what had happened – she had been aware of what she was doing the entire time, although unable to stop it – but she was every bit as horrified and dismayed by the damage she had done. Her hand rose instinctively toward the glaring wound in his throat, not quite touching it…

He flinched away before she could, shaking his head and pleading softly, "No, Buffy…don't…I'm sorry, I won't…won't do it again, please, Buffy…"

Her eyes softened, filling with tears as her hand went instead behind his head, pulling him close to her. At first, his body stiffened against her embrace, resistant and fearful – but then, she felt him relax – no, collapse -- into her touch, shaking with deep sobs as he leaned against her, his hands lowering tentatively from where she had held them above his head, but not daring to touch her.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay. Come here," she murmured comfortingly, pulling his arms gently around her to indicated that it was all right for him to touch her.

And he clung to her, until his emotional reaction had passed.

When he seemed calmer, she reached a gentle hand toward his shoulder, on the uninjured side, to lift his head to look at her. He resisted slightly – not too much, he didn't dare – not wanting to face her, confused and ashamed.

When he finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye, he was startled by the sorrow and confusion he saw in her eyes as well.

"Spike," she said softly, holding his gaze with a solemn intensity. "We really need to talk."


	21. Chapter 21

"I'm sorry," Buffy whispered, the regret in her tearful green eyes unmistakable as her gaze fell on Spike's torn, ravaged throat, then on the bruising cheek she had struck. "I'm so sorry, Spike."

When she reached out a gentle hand to touch his face, he could not help it, no matter how hard he tried. He flinched slightly, tensed for the pain that followed her touch so often these past couple of days. She immediately withdrew her hand, a look of guilt and dismay in her eyes. Her hand was still on his arm, but her grip loosened, and then released him completely, when she became suddenly aware of how tense he was under her touch, as if prepared to face an attack at any moment.

She tried to shut out her own hurt and sorrow at that realization, aware that she had no right to such feelings after what she had done to him.

"Okay," she said, releasing a slow, shaky breath. "Um – I think we both need to take a few minutes – calm down – get – cleaned up a little. There's no need to rush, we have all afternoon. But – but we need to sit down and talk, try to figure this out."

As she spoke, she sought his eyes, trying to get him to look at her, but he avoided her gaze deliberately. His eyes were wide, his jaw tense and his lips set in a firm line, and she knew that he was trying to avoid becoming any more vulnerable to her than he already was, not willing to allow her to see the emotions that were always so visible in his all-too-expressive sapphire eyes.

Finally, he seemed to yield to the pressure of her piercing gaze, raising his eyes to meet her, nodding his silent acceptance of her decision.

And strangely, when he did, Buffy found that she was the one who had to look away, as an overwhelming sense of guilty responsibility came over her at the silent accusation in Spike's eyes. There was no anger, certainly no threat there – but the fear, the submission that was so unlike him, accused her loudly of her crime of putting such feelings there in the first place.

Even as the Slayer, she instinctively knew – such a proud, powerful creature as Spike should never feel such things.

Ironically, it was when she turned her head away in shame at her own offenses, that a sharp twinge of pain in her neck made Buffy remember something that had been forgotten in her distress over her own actions. Her eyes widened as she gingerly touched the injured spot on her own throat, staring at her hand as she brought it away wet, smeared with her blood.

Her eyes met Spike's again, with realization of the truth – just before narrowing in anger and suspicion. The trapped, guilty look on the vampire's face dispelled any notion she might have had that he could have been just as surprised by this turn of events as she was. No, he had known that he could bite her, had planned it out – or else he never would have tried it at all.

He saw the angry set to her mouth, saw the fire flashing in her eyes, and drew back quickly in alarm, scooting back away from her in an effort to get out of her reach – but not quickly enough. She caught him by the hair and yanked him back close to her, leaning in close with a wide, false smile that he had seen many times during his tumultuous knowledge of this particular Slayer.

But even as she spoke, her tone and expression coolly threatening, he felt a sense of relief wash over him.

However menacing she appeared, this was not the cruel, possessive, primal Slayer that had been doing her best to smash his spirit for the past two days, the terrifying creature that had been laboring to bring him further under her power.

This was just Buffy -- only really pissed off.

And that, he could deal with.

"Yeah," she said with a smirk. "we really need to talk!" Without really thinking about what she was doing, just automatically employing her usual intimidation techniques, Buffy gave his head a little backward jerk to emphasize her words.

When she saw his very genuine cringe of pain as the sudden motion jarred his abused throat, pulling at the tender, open wound, a fresh pang of guilt hit her, and she suddenly released her grip on his hair, moving back a bit and taking a deep breath to calm herself before she went on.

When she spoke again, her voice was calm and even, but authoritative. "I want you to go and take a shower. Get cleaned up, get dressed. There's – there's bandages in the bathroom cupboard if you want them. When you're finished, I'll do the same," she said pointedly, eyebrows raised at her own veiled reference to the injury on her own throat – which he would definitely be required to explain. "I'll meet you in the living room," she finished. "and we'll talk this out."

She did not wait for a response; it was simply assumed between them that he would obey.

She backed off to allow him to rise, and he slid off the bed and to his feet, as she got up on the other side of the bed. His mind was racing as he headed for the bedroom door, fighting off a sense of panic as he wondered just how severe the consequences would be for his current state of chiplessness. The Slayer had told him that the only thing keeping him alive had been the fact that he could not hurt anyone anymore.

Well, there was the proof that that defense was no longer valid, right there in bleeding color on her neck!

He made up his mind as he headed for the shower. He no longer had the chip to hinder him; he could go anywhere, do anything he wanted to do. He would get cleaned up, get his clothes on, as she had ordered – but then, he would get out of here. While the Slayer was in the shower, before she had the chance to stake him for something that was beyond his control anyway. Yes, it would be difficult to resist the pull of her bond on him, but he was sure that if he wanted to get away bad enough, he could do it.

And he wanted it pretty bloody bad.

Suddenly, before he was even aware that the Slayer had moved, he felt a strong hand close around his arm from behind, pulling him back a step against her still naked body, as her other hand came to rest carefully over the bloodied spot on his throat.

He drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected contact, that was surprisingly not painful, despite the tender condition of the mark. In fact, he felt neither pain nor pleasure, simply an intense sensation of pressure, as she pulled him back against her. The touch was a warning, not intended to hurt him – just to make sure that he was reminded of her power.

He was.

Her nearness, the contact with her mark, had the same effect it always did, making him long for her, to please her, making anything but submission a near impossibility, despite his strongest efforts to resist it.

He yielded, leaning back against her as she rose on her feet to speak softly into his ear. "You're not going anywhere, Spike," she stated, her voice not threatening, gentle in fact – but with utter certainty, and unmistakable authority. "You will not attempt to leave this house. You will do just as I've told you and wait for me in the living room once you're dressed."

When she did not say anything else, he nodded silently, swallowing hard – and he knew that he would obey. He had no other choice, really. He had felt it – she had invoked the power of her claim to force him to obey.

As he made his way to the bathroom, helpless fear at having his means of escape denied turned to frustration at this entire situation he had found himself in, which turned to anger – at the person responsible for putting him in that situation.

As he allowed the warm water from the shower to wash the blood and other fluids from his body, he allowed the angry thoughts to take root in his mind, playing them over and over, allowing his fury to build.

This whole thing was her fault, anyway! How could she dare to blame him, kill him even, for the malfunctioning of his chip, when it was her bleedin' bollixed up ritual that caused it to stop working in the first place? He thought back over the way she had treated him the past few days, the cruelty and abuse she had heaped on him – and when he realized that even now, in spite of it all, he was wanting to be near her gain, longing for her touch, whether for pleasure or pain…

It made him bloody furious.

The soddin' bint had destroyed him, ruined him, made him into nothing more than a slave to her whims. He was a bloody master vampire, for pity's sake! And here he was fawning over a Slayer, forced not only to do her bidding, but to want to do her bidding!

By the time he got out of the shower, the wound on his throat had already begun to heal, thanks to his accelerated vampire healing, but he had figured it out by now. The wound would only ever heal so much. It was the Slayer's permanent mark of ownership over him, and would never completely vanish, would always remain sensitive, vulnerable to her touch.

Just another way she had to control him.

By the time he finished in the shower, he had worked himself up into a dangerous rage. The question was – dangerous for whom? He knew better, when thinking rationally, than to think that he could beat Buffy in a fight right now. She had too much control, mentally and physically, over him.

Then again, he was not exactly thinking rationally at the moment.

By the time Buffy got out of the shower and dressed and ready for the conversation that she was dreading, it was already just after noon. She had taken her time with it, using the time to calm herself and think things through -- as best she could while being completely confused and not having a clue, anyway.

Spike had used the time to work himself into a barely suppressed fury.

Buffy noticed the way he was pacing the living room when she walked down the stairs, agitated and restless, and to her credit, did not react as she went calmly to the sofa and sat down.

"Come here," she said quietly, touching the seat beside her. "Come here and talk to me."

"Not sure I want to," he snapped, his eyes glaring daggers at her. "Might get slapped about and ordered to silence. Unless of course you're tired of that little number."

Buffy felt something inside her rising up at his defiant words and tone – and deliberately, forcefully fought it down. She was determined not to lose control – not this time. Instead, she kept her tone light as she replied, "Don't tell me that's what you're all worked up about. I've always told you to shut up and smacked you down. It's what I do. So why are you getting worked up about it now?"

It was a weak – and foolish – attempt at humor in the awkward situation, but it only provoked Spike to greater anger. "Yeah, and I've never actually done it when you told me to before, either!" he declared, turning to face her and pointing an accusing finger at her. "Never!" He paused, and his tone was softer, but still furious, when he continued, "Not until now. Did you realize I didn't say a bloody word to you up there just now, Slayer? Not a bloody word! Just sat there and shut up and let you order me around like a bleedin' ponce!"

He resumed his pacing, hands waving and gesturing wildly as he went on. "And yeah, Slayer, the bloody chip's quit working, as you bloody well know by now! But have I raised a finger to you? Besides that once!" he interrupted himself quickly before she could bring up the bite marks on her neck, holding up a hand toward her to ward off her inevitable protest. "When you've been knocking me about and throwing me around and beating the living daylights out of me, have I lifted a hand to you? No!"

"I'm sorry," Buffy repeated quietly. "I didn't want to hurt you, Spike…" If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the strain in her voice, the struggle to control the anger that was rising in her, not completely of her own volition, but against her own will, at his furious rant.

"No," he spat back at her sarcastically. "But I suppose we've all got to make our sacrifices for the greater good, haven't we, Slayer? 'Less of course you're evil – like me," he amended as an afterthought.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Buffy snapped, momentarily forgetting her resolve to stay calm.

"What the bleedin' hell do you think it means, Slayer?" Spike shot back, stopping his pacing to face her, furious. "You just had to do it, just had to do something because I was so dangerous, such a bleedin' threat, even though I couldn't hurt a single living person without my soddin' head exploding, that you had to initiate an eternal blood bond to keep me under control! Eternal, Slayer. Do you have any concept of what that means? Do you have any soddin' idea what you've…"

He stopped for a moment, trying to control his emotions…tried again. "Do you even know what you've done to…"

He gave up, the steam disappearing from his rant, and turned away, his head bowed, as he finally finished, much softer now, "Why did you even do it?"

Buffy was surprised by the soft sorrow, the note of desperation in his voice – as if some part of him was hoping for an answer from her that the rest of him knew very well he was not going to get.

"I – I didn't really – mean to," she admitted quietly.

He turned to face her again, and the shock and hurt on his face struck her like a physical blow.

Okay – wrong answer, she noted, cringing inwardly.

"You didn't mean to – you didn't mean to initiate a bloody mating claim?" he repeated, aghast at her casual comment. "How could you…"

"Actually," she shot back defensively, a frown coming over her face as her natural defenses rose. "I didn't initiate it. I was just going through with the dominance ritual. Or I thought I was. I wouldn't have even let things get that far if you hadn't tricked me into thinking I'd already won…"

"Well, would it kill you to crack a bleedin' book before you attempt a complicated, powerful ancient ritual than happens to last forever -- you daft bint?" Spike interrupted her with a derisive sneer. "If you'd had any idea what you were doing to begin with…"

Buffy rose to her feet suddenly, eyes blazing with fury as she took a step toward him, not willing to give up her previous point. "I talked to Anya, and I might not get all of this just yet, but I know this much -- you're the one who bit me first and tried the mating claim crap! I just refused to let you do what you wanted and took control of the situation! And it worked, didn't it? You're completely under my control! It's not my fault you had to screw the whole thing up!"

"Is that the way you see this?" he demanded, his voice lower now as he searched her eyes in disbelief and anger, both of which barely served to mask his underlying hurt. "Just a way to keep me under control? Who cares that you've bloody bonded me to you for the rest of my existence, just so long as I have to do what you say?"

His comments about her intelligence were just catching up with her, and Buffy felt the perverse desire to hurt him back. "Pretty much," she lied coolly with a shrug – although the truth was, the permanence, the weight of what she had done concerned her more than she could express. "I'm the dominant party, so the way I see it – it worked."

He stared at her for a moment, speechless and sick at heart at the casual attitude she had about the whole thing. Real or manufactured by the ritual, his feelings for her were powerful, consuming – he knew very well that at this moment, he could not make it without her. He needed her, desperately.

But for her – it was all about winning.

He turned away from her before she could see the tears welling in his eyes, the pain on his face – but she didn't have to see it.

She could feel it.

The bond that allowed her to hear his thoughts at times, now allowed her to feel the sorrow, the rejection and hurt that he was going through – and smote her heart with guilt again.

God, Buffy, you keep getting this wrong! she silently berated herself, realizing in a moment how thoughtless her words had been. But then, how could she get it right when she really did not even understand exactly what 'it' was?

"Spike," she said softly, moving cautiously up behind him. "I'm sorry…"

He turned further away from her as she reached him, stretching out a hand to touch his arm. He jerked away from her, moving a few steps away. "Don't touch me," he said in a voice that was barely over a whisper.

The words incensed that something in her that was so demanding, so possessive of his affections, and it was an almost physical struggle for her to keep control, not to force the issue – force him -- to accept her touch whether he wanted it or not. The thought of what a part of her wanted to do right then was horrifying to her, and she fought with everything in her to keep control. She could not hurt him again – not now.

"Spike," she said in a quiet, barely controlled voice that immediately caused him to turn and look at her sharply, alarm in his eyes as he realized how near she was to losing control again. "I don't think – I don't think you should say things like that – not – not until we can get this figured out…"

He took a few cautious steps away from her, his wide eyes focused apprehensively on her face. "And by 'this'," he said with barely veiled resentment. "you mean this bloody compulsion you have to beat the daylights out of me every five minutes?"

"It's – it's not that, Spike," she said, with an effort taking a step back away from him, instead of following her impulse to quickly close the gap between them and grab him, punish his subtle defiance of attempting to avoid her touch. "It's – it's the claim. It's like – every time you try to – to resist it, I feel like I've got to – like I've got to…"

"Put me back in line?" he supplied in a dark voice, eyes wide and solemn as he searched her face, body taut and ready as he waited, unsure yet of whether or not Buffy was in control.

She was not quite sure herself. But she nodded slowly, closing her eyes and concentrating on just – keeping – control…

But it was a losing battle. They both knew it.

Spike's mind was racing, fighting off panic, aware that there was no way he could escape her, and that she was on the verge of giving in to the strange impulse to exert her dominance on him again. Suddenly, his mind went back to the incident upstairs – what it had taken to get her to back down, to stop the vicious punishment she had meted out then...

It took all the strength of will he possessed for him to take the few steps toward her to close the distance between them – but he somehow managed it. She took a couple of steps back in alarm at his approach, afraid that she was going to hurt him, but he gently caught her hands in his before she could retreat, seeking her gaze until she looked into his eyes, her own chillingly wild and blazing with that strange light that struck such a sense of dread into his heart.

"I'm yours, Buffy," he whispered softly, holding her gaze as he slowly raised her hands and lowered his head slightly to press his forehead against the backs of her hands in a slow, tender gesture of submission. "Yours." He looked up to meet her stunned eyes again, a sort of sad, ironic smile on his lips as he added softly, "Touch all you like." He paused, and the vulnerability, the sincerity in his eyes put an ache of sorrow in her heart as he whispered, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you to. Because God help me, Buffy, I do…no matter what. I do."

He watched with relief as his honest words caused the blazing rage to slowly fade out of her eyes. She looked past him for a moment, her eyes wide and stricken as she tried to take in what had just happened. Finally she met his eyes again, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I keep saying that, I know, but I am. You – you shouldn't have to pretend, just to…"

"I wasn't pretending," he interrupted quietly, subdued now, the anger seemingly vanished from him in an instant. He paused, lowering his eyes as he added, "That's why – that's why it…"

"Hurts," she finished for him quietly, her eyes softening with compassion. "I didn't mean what I said, Spike. I mean – I really didn't know what I was getting into – not really. I can't lie about that. But – but on some level, I – I think I did. It's like – something inside me just knew that it was the thing to do."

The same 'something' that wants to break and destroy me? he wondered uneasily, but did not speculate aloud.

She moved in closer, seeking his gaze as her hands trailed up his arms to his shoulders, and he drew in an involuntary breath at the nearness of her touch. "I do want you, Spike," she admitted quietly. "I really do. And maybe it's just the claim, but – but it's real, Spike, whatever caused it. And I – I want you so bad. All the time."

His eyes closed against the revelation of his emotions, and he swallowed hard, as he whispered, "You know I want you, Buffy. I need you."

"I know," she whispered, leaning in yet closer, her fingers playing at the edge of her mark, but without the intent to manipulate that it had been before.

This time, it was a simple gesture of powerful affection, and his head moved back slightly, then dropped forward as he leaned instinctively toward her, his lips parting with renewed desire for her, a longing that transcended all his other concerns and fears – they were still there, only overwhelmed by the power of her touch.

"I need you, Buffy," he repeated with a sense of desperation, an aching need that was a physical pain, as his hands moved to her waist, kneading, pulling her in closer to him.

She kissed his face tenderly, her lips moving down the line of his jaw toward his neck, wanting to offer what little comfort she could after all the hurt she had caused him. "I know," she whispered again reassuringly, her fingers caressing her mark, sending a sense of comfort and security through him as she continued the physical affection she was lavishing on him. This time, it was all about him, all about reassuring him and taking away the doubts that her own thoughtless words and actions had placed in him.

"Buffy," he whispered urgently, brokenly, unable to put into words what he was feeling, his depth of need. "Buffy, love…"

She did not know if what she was feeling was real – if there was a way to undo the damage her claim had done, if the feelings she felt now would vanish if they could find a way – if she even wanted to find a way at this point. She only knew one thing in this moment, and only that one thing mattered.

Spike needed her.

"I'm here," she whispered against his lips, pulling him in closer to her. "I'm here."


	22. Chapter 22

Buffy pulled back, breathless, from the last of a series of tender, intimate kisses, intended, with her gentle caressing touch on her mark, to comfort and reassure Spike – who would not need comforting and reassuring if not for her own vicious abuse of him before, she was reminded with a pang of guilt. It made her feel terribly uncomfortable to think of how vulnerable he was to her, how badly he needed her.

And yet, in comforting him, in the tender nearness of these few sweet moments, she found that a deep need within her was satisfied as well. It was as Anya had said, she guessed. She was starting to feel the effects of his claim as well, although she had not accepted it.

"God," she whispered as she finally drew back, searching his wide, vulnerable blue eyes for a moment before he lowered his head to rest against her shoulder. "What's happening to us?"

He was breathing hard himself from the intensity of the moment, his trembling hands clinging to her waist as if he thought she might vanish if he stopped touching her. Finally, he raised his head to look at her again, a bit apprehensive as he whispered a hesitant correction.

"You." When she just looked at him blankly for a moment, confused, he went on. "You, love. What's happening to you? I know what's happening to me." He was quiet for a moment, dropping his gaze as he went on softly, "You claimed me – and for whatever reason I accepted it. I – I'm yours. So now – I want you desperately. I'll never stop wanting you. I belong to you."

"Because of the mating claim." Buffy nodded solemnly, her voice a hushed, almost reverent whisper, her heart heavy with the weight of his words, the responsibility that came with this new-formed relationship between them.

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak again, but then hesitating over the words. "But – but you…" he finally managed – then stopped, glancing up at her with uncertainty, and barely masked fear.

She forced herself not to flinch at the sight of it, knew that she had caused his fear, his mistrust of her, and had no right to feel hurt over it – and focused instead on his words. "Me…?" she prompted gently, waiting for him to go on.

He looked away, unable to bring himself to say anymore, not wanting to risk angering her with his simple honesty. But his silence spoke volumes.

"I'm the one who's messed up," she concluded with a heavy sigh, though they both had already known that much. "This – this super-possessive, controlling – thing – that doesn't happen in a regular mating claim? Not even for the – the dominant partner?"

If the claim is returned, both ways, he thought with a certain resentment, and a sad sense of longing, there is no dominant partner.

Aloud, he said softly, "No. I mean – there's some possessiveness, to a point – but – but not like…"

Cruel…violent…abusive… The terrible descriptions finished his statement in her mind, a sick feeling starting in the pit of her stomach.

"Not like this," she finished in a near whisper, pulling back from him and into her own troubling thoughts. She slowly moved across the room to the sofa and sat down, her head in her hands. "What am I going to do?" she said in a soft, despairing sort of voice.

Slowly, cautiously, Spike followed her, sitting down on the end of the sofa, careful to leave a good bit of distance between them. "Maybe your Watcher'll know…"

"No!" Buffy looked up and cut him off sharply, alarm in her wide green eyes. Spike did not visibly react to her tone, but she could feel his sudden tension, the little spark of fear that shot through him, and she softened her voice as she repeated firmly, "No. I'm not telling Giles."

Spike was quiet for a moment, accepting that, before he said in an even, cautious voice, "Love – it's not exactly the sort of thing that lends itself well to secrecy. How do you plan to keep him from finding out? Especially now that Anya knows about it?"

Buffy frowned. "She won't say anything. And it shouldn't be that hard. We're just gonna have to act like everything went according to the original plan. One way or another, you are in submission to me, so it shouldn't be that hard to pull off."

"Think you're forgetting one thing, love."

"What's that?" Buffy gave him a look that was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

His expression, his tone, was calm as he looked her in the eye and replied quietly, "Your rampant need to rip my clothes off, throw me against the nearest flat surface and shag me senseless every five minutes."

Her eyes widened at his blunt words, and the open desire in his eyes as he spoke them, that look that suggested that if she felt like fulfilling that particular need at this very moment, he would not have any objections. In fact, as her eyes slowly moved over his lean, muscular body and back up to eyes that were at least a shade or two darker than they had been when last she'd looked…

"S-self control," she replied distractedly, unsure herself whether she was attempting to answer his comment, or giving herself instruction for the moment at hand. She shook her head slightly, trying to break the sort of trance that seemed to be falling over her, as she said slowly and deliberately, "We just have to show a – a little – self-control…"

A soft little smirk came over Spike's lips as he studied her face, saw her inner struggle, the desire for him that she was trying so hard to manage – and slowly but surely yielding to, despite her better judgment.

That desire was the only scrap of power that he had left in this equation.

Aware of the effect it would have on her, he slid closer to her on the couch, his voice lowering to a soft, warm-honey tone that made her pulse quicken and her arousal surge. "I'm under control, love," he reminded her. "Yours, to be exact."

He reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear in an affectionate gesture that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, her eyes beginning to drift between his eyes and his lips – betraying her thoughts as he moved in closer.

He didn't need the telepathic power she seemed to have to know what was on her mind.

"The thing is, Buffy," he went on, his voice soft and hushed and utterly mesmerizing as he slid nearer to her on the sofa until their legs were touching, one hand coming to rest just above her knee, and sliding slowly up her leg. "This whole thing was about – keeping me under control – but it seems to me – that you're the one that needs controlling…"

His comment was intended to call her attention to her uncontrolled attraction, the need for him that was apparently taking her over – but something he had said seemed to trigger something in her mind, and she frowned thoughtfully for a moment, before suddenly meeting his eyes. Her own were clear, the haze of desire overcome by a look of curiosity…wait…not curiosity…

Suspicion.

Before he had time to react, she seized his wrist in an iron grip, stopping the progress of his wandering hand, and giving him a hard, speculative smile. "Speaking of control," she said, tilting her head slightly in an inquisitive gesture she could have stolen from him, "that reminds me."

He realized suddenly with dismay what the Slayer had just remembered.

The failure of the chip.

"Now, Buffy…" he began nervously, trying to pull his wrist free. "…wait just a bloody minute here, love…"

He could see the anger in her eyes – just normal Buffy-anger, but still pretty bloody scary, considering how much damage the Slayer could inflict on him and how easily she could render him powerless to do anything about it. The accusation in her eyes made it clear that she believed that she had been tricked, deceived about the chip in an effort to manipulate her – and she did not intend to let him get away with it.

She ignored him, holding him fast and taking his other wrist in hand as well, pushing him firmly back against the couch, leaning over him and holding him down in a way that was both intimidating and seductive.

"Buffy," he tried again. "it's not what you think…I didn't even know…"

"Shut up," she said casually, her oddly calm tone betraying her anger more than shouting would have, and having ten times the effect as she smiled calmly down at him. Verging on panic, he pushed up against her, trying to break her hold on his wrists, raising one knee up in an attempt to push her off of him.

That was a mistake.

Her eyes narrowed, her smile fading, as she snapped with clear authority, her tone leaving no room for doubt, "Stop." As she spoke, she used her own knee to push his back down, shifting so that her legs straddled one of his, one knee between his parted thighs, just barely touching his slightly hardened manhood, without exerting any actual pressure.

He gasped at the slight contact, and the subtle threat in her eyes as they met his again – and did not move again.

"I have a question for you, Spike," she said sweetly, her smile widening as she added, "and I'd better like the answer," sliding her knee forward just slightly and eliciting a frightened little cry from his throat that he did his best to stifle, turning his head away from her.

She released one wrist as she leaned in closer, to turn his head back and force him to look at her. "But I'm already pretty sure I won't," she finished in a near whisper with a cool smile, seeming calmer now that his resistance had ceased.

She was still furious, he could tell – but he realized with relief that at least she was still her -- and that was a small mercy at the moment.

There was an accusing note in her voice as she went on, "I'm really curious, Spike, as to how one minute the very thought of hurting a human makes your head explode in pain, and the next, you're taking the opportunity to stick your fangs in my neck and try to kill me…"

"Claim you," he corrected automatically in a whisper.

"Same difference, to me," she replied with a harsh tone that made him flinch – that, and the hurtful comment, indicating just what she thought of the idea of belonging to him as he belonged to her.

"Anyway," she went on, oblivious to his reaction. "What I want to know is what happened to your 'chip'?" She spoke the last word with a derisive skepticism that implied she really wasn't sure if he'd even had a chip at all to begin with.

He was in a terribly dangerous position, he knew. He knew how weak his explanation of "I don't know" would sound to her suspicious ears, and knew that she would likely react with violence first thing when she heard what she would perceive to be a lie.

He took a deep breath before launching into his defense. "Buffy, I know you're not gonna believe this so why would I even say it if it wasn't the truth, but you've got to believe me no matter how bloody stupid it sounds because I swear to you on my soddin' unlife that it's the absolute truth…" he blurted out in a desperate, shaky rush, closing his eyes in anticipation of her punishment when she did not believe him – because, bloody hell, if he was her, he wouldn't believe him either!

He drew another deep breath, and then finished slowly in a measured voice of resignation, "I've got no bloody buggering clue, love. I don't know." He winced, his body tensing in expectation of the brutal blow he expected, the Slayer's retribution for his deception.

It didn't come.

After a brief pause, Buffy asked in an uncertain voice, "So you just decide you're gonna just – I don't know, check and see if it's still working? – by biting me? Let's hurt Buffy and see if my head explodes?"

"No," he admitted quietly, looking up at her and bravely meeting her eyes. "I knew by then it wasn't working. But only just barely. You – you should have known, too. I found out when I – when I pushed you off me. This morning."

Buffy's grip on his wrists suddenly slackened as she drew back slightly, swallowing hard at the sick feeling that came over her at the memory of her behavior. All at once she released him, raising up to her knees and averting her eyes with a sudden sense of shame. His next words only increased her guilt, spoken softly and full of an aching hurt.

"And just so you know – didn't intend to hurt you. Only wanted to – to make you mine. Like I'm yours."

She did not respond, did not make a sound or move for a long moment. Then, finally, she moved off of him completely, turning and sitting back down on the end of the couch, leaning forward and running her hands through her hair in a frustrated gesture.

"I believe you," she said quietly, sounding exhausted and confused, and very troubled. "So the chip thing must just be another freaky side effect of the stupid ritual."

Overwhelmingly relieved, Spike released a long, deep breath, his eyes closed for a moment before pulling himself back up to an upright position on the far end of the couch. He shot her a resentful glare as he asked in a shaken, wounded voice, "Was that really necessary, Slayer?"

The physical threat seemed to have passed, but he was still stinging from her verbal barbs, on top of her physical rejection, embarrassed and hurt by his own honesty and self-revelation – and her rather disappointing reactions to it.

"It's bloody bad enough dealing with this whole new very unpleasant and more than a little psychotic side of you, Buffy," he informed her in a sharp, scathing tone, "without having to deal with your natural ordinary bitchiness on top of it!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" she said quietly, and she meant it, but her exhaustion made it sound like an attempt to shut him up. "I – I just wanted to be sure you weren't lying to me. I thought – I thought you were trying to…" She gave up, the vague impressions she had had evading words, and just shook her head, resting it in her hands again.

Spike looked at her for a long moment, trying to gauge her sincerity, and then nodded, acknowledging her words. He could understand how, especially for a Slayer, his bite upstairs could tend to make her a bit suspicious and paranoid.

"If I was lying," he reminded her quietly after a moment. "You'd have known it."

Her eyes widened as she remembered the little mind-reading trick that she seemed to be able to call up at will. She suddenly felt very overwhelmed again – so many new and disturbing things to try to process, and with them so much responsibility and change.

"And the freakiness just keeps on coming," she muttered darkly.

They were both silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Buffy looked up at him again through solemn but questioning eyes. "Why did you want to?"

He frowned, a bit distractedly, looking up at her. "Want to what?"

She hesitated, before asking softly, "Make me yours."

His eyes widened for a moment with a vaguely trapped expression, before he looked away quickly. "I – I just – just wanted to – even the score a bit," he lied, forcing a casual tone to his voice. "Thought – if the claim was mutual – returned – maybe your need to control wouldn't be so strong, and – and things could get back to normal around here."

Buffy was surprised at the disappointment that went through her at his words. She had expected – well – more, or – or something – different, from what he had said. Certainly not for him to say that it had only been about evening the score. And why, she wondered suddenly, should he want to claim her for any other reason than that?

And why should she care if he didn't?

"Well," she said quietly, with a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, Spike, but I can't let you do that. This is hard and all, but we're gonna find a way to control – this – whatever this is that's making me act this way. But I can't let you – 'even the score'," she informed him, unable to keep the slightly bitter note out of her voice as she repeated his words. "Not now. Not that the chip has stopped working."

He looked up at her, surprised. He had not thought about that.

"Maybe you're right," she conceded. "Maybe this whole thing was pointless and we didn't need to do it. There's no question that it was a mistake," she admitted with a harsh laugh. "But now – since your chip's quit working – if I give up the control I have over you – well, I'd – I'd have to stake you."

He blinked, taken aback a bit by the blunt words. "But that's just the thing, pet," he said quietly, edging closer to her again, but this time with no ulterior motives. "Since this is a mating claim we're involved in here, it involves powerful – feelings – devotion – like nothing you've ever experienced, love. Even if you accept my claim – you won't have to worry about me causing trouble, chip or no – because – I'd not do it, just – just to please you. Just because – I'd still be yours. Only – you'd be mine, too," he finished softly, looking down in a manner that was almost shy.

"I don't know," she said softly, shaking her head, too lost in her worries to notice the insecurity, the soft question in his voice. "Spike, I – I can't do anything like that – let you do anything like that – until I understand more about what's going on here."

He was silent for a moment, taking in the new unintentional blow that was her complete obliviousness to his feelings. Finally, he replied calmly, his tone revealing only a hint of his disappointment and resignation, "Then, perhaps you should talk to your Watcher, love. I know you don't want him to know things went wrong, but…but if he could help you find a way…"

"No," she insisted firmly. "Not – not yet. Maybe – maybe – later. But not yet. I just – I just can't." She paused, before looking up at him to speak quietly but certainly, "For now, we're just going to go to that meeting, and act like everything went the way it was intended to. Anya's working on finding a solution, and if she can't, then I'll talk to Giles. But for now, this needs to be a secret."

She looked away, and when she spoke again it was not really to him, her head resting in her hands again as she said in a voice that was almost a moan of shame and confusion, "I just can't – can't let him know what I've done."

It was suddenly painfully clear to Spike, in her tone, that she was still horrified and just sick at heart over what she had done – over claiming him.

And Buffy was utterly unaware as once again his heart shattered in pieces at her feet.


	23. Chapter 23

Soon after obliviously shattering Spike's heart for the hundredth time in less than twenty-four hours, Buffy excused herself and went upstairs to her room. She wanted to avoid being in a situation to lose control, to hurt him again – but to Spike, it felt like yet another rejection.

He turned on the television, knowing that they still had a few hours to kill before the meeting, but not surprisingly, could not focus on anything that was on. All he could think about was the pain of his current situation.

Buffy had claimed him – but she did not want him. She had done it in a desperate last ditch effort not only to control him, but to keep him from controlling her – without any genuine feelings for him on her part whatsoever. In fact, she was utterly ashamed of her claim, wanting to keep it a secret from the people in her life that she actually cared about.

It's your own bloody fault, he reminded himself with bitter self-directed anger. If you hadn't tried to claim her it wouldn't have happened.

It had not occurred to him until Buffy had reminded him, but he had been the first one to initiate a mating claim. The idea probably would never have occurred to her if he had not tried it first. Of course, at that point, realizing that her original dominance ritual had been messed up, she would have thought that the only way to counteract his claim was to issue one of her own.

And why the bleedin' hell had he done that anyway? he wondered, bewildered. What had ever possessed him to try not only to dominate the girl, but to make her his eternal mate? Where had the intense desire to have her as his own -- forever -- come from?

He had the disturbing realization that it had someone been in him since well before the actual ritual.

Just after sunset, he heard Buffy coming down the stairs, and rose from the sofa, wary and apprehensive. After all, lately he had no idea whether she was going to be the normally annoying Slayer he had gotten used to over the past few years – or the frighteningly possessive version of her that he had gotten to know better than he wanted to over the past few hours.

Buffy's expression was sober, thoughtful, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and met his eyes for a moment, before looking away. He noticed uneasily as her eyes fell on his throat, her smoldering gaze seeming to bore right into her mark, despite the fact that it was covered by his black turtleneck. But it was only an instant before she turned abruptly without a word and went into the kitchen.

She came back shrugging into a dark red leather jacket, asking softly, in a strangely subdued voice, "Ready?"

He nodded slowly, his hand rising unconsciously to cover the wound when he saw her looking intently at it again.

She looked away quickly at his reaction, heading toward the door. He followed her silently – there was really nothing to say. He looked up at her in surprise when her hand froze on the doorknob, to see her staring at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't say anything about – about the mating claim, or – or the biting, or…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked away uncomfortably.

"Got it, love," he replied flatly, moving impatiently toward the door again. "Dirty little secret. Check."

"Hey," she said, her voice an odd mixture of annoyance and compassion. "Don't say that. It's not like that, Spike, really – I just – just don't…"

"Just don't want them to know that for about ten seconds, you actually thought that you wanted me?" he shot back, immediately regretting the impetuous, resentful words, which revealed far more of his emotions than was wise at this point, he knew.

He looked quickly, uncertainly up to her eyes, wanting to gauge her reaction – only to see that his words had hardly registered with her. She was focused on the mark again, a slight frown creasing her brow, and an odd glimmer in her eyes that made him feel very uneasy.

"What?" he demanded, stepping back in alarm, his hand again rising to cover the mark defensively.

He saw it coming in her eyes, the instant before her expression darkened and she gripped his arm, yanking the protective hand away from the mark, turning him and pushing him against the door. "You can't hide the fact that you're mine!" she snarled menacingly, her free hand trailing lightly over the mark and up the side of his face in a possessive gesture.

He shuddered at the sensation, gasping in a single deep breath, struggling to maintain his focus, keep his thoughts together, under the power of her presence and her touch. "I – I thought – you wanted…" he tried, hardly able to put the words together through his desire and fear. "Please – I wasn't – trying to…"

He felt Buffy's grip on his arm slowly ease, and chanced a look up to her face. She looked startled, a bit confused, by her own behavior, as she backed up slightly, without completely releasing him.

"I – I'm sorry, Spike…I don't know why I…I just…" She frowned, looking again at the covered but still vulnerable mark, and he tensed in anticipation. "I…" she tried again, her tone slow and uncertain, as if aware that what she was saying did not really make sense, "I – don't think I like you wearing that…"

His eyes widened in surprise, a single eyebrow raising slightly in a wary question. "Why's that, love?" he asked in a low, cautious voice, relieved when she released him, moving back a little further, looking thoughtfully away to consider his question.

"I – I think – I want to – to be able to…" She struggled to find words, frowning and shaking her head when she could not.

Her initial threatening words came back to him -- You can't hide it!

"You don't like it being – covered," he supplied slowly, careful to keep his tone neutral, trying not to betray the strange combination of chilling apprehension, and blissful joy, at the implications of his words. "You – you want for – for it to be visible…known. That I'm yours."

Her frown deepened, as she raised her eyes again to meet his, wide and confused. She nodded slowly. "Maybe – maybe that's it – but – but I don't want that," she argued quietly, uncertainly. "I mean – I don't think I do. I don't want them to know what I did, but – but I think maybe – you're right…"

He kept his eyes trained on hers, just quietly waiting for her to go on, not wanting to risk angering her, not moving or speaking again and watching her cautiously.

"I think a part of me," she went on softly. "does want them to know. It's like – I know that it's better to keep this between us for now. The others won't take it well, to say the least. And in my head, I know I couldn't stand for Giles to know. And yet – I want everyone to know…"

She hesitated, shaking her head again with a weary sigh. "I don't know. None of this makes sense." She met his eyes again, this time with apology. "I'm sorry, Spike. I keep jumping all over you like this…"

He shrugged, attempting for unconcerned. " 'S all right, pet," he said softly. "Getting used to it."

He felt vindictively gratified when she flinched, then apprehensive again when her expression hardened.

But it was not anger, but determination, that set her jaw and strengthened her tone as she reached for the door and opened it. "Don't," she advised grimly. "Because it's not gonna last." As she led the way out the door and onto the sidewalk, he barely caught her last words, as her back was to him and the wind carried them partially away – but the desperation was clear in her voice as she finished.

"It can't."

"Buffy – Spike," Giles greeted them with a tight, slightly uncomfortable smile as Buffy entered the Magic Box with a jangle of bells and headed directly for the table in the center of the room.

"Hey, guys," she said with a lightness to her voice that Spike recognized as false – but which probably managed to deceive her often willingly blind friends. "What's up?"

Willow smiled warmly, expectantly curious, at her best friend from her spot across from her at the table. Xander and Anya were sitting together near her, and Xander had been talking to her quietly – but the moment Buffy and Spike walked in, her attention was stolen away.

The anxious ex-demon glanced between the Slayer and the vampire several times, trying to gauge their behavior – not missing the nearly faded bruise that was still visible on Spike's cheek from Buffy's earlier blow following his second attempt to claim her. Anya had no idea of what had happened after she had left the house, but her expression darkened with worry when she saw it.

"We're here for you to answer that question, actually, Buffy," Giles reminded her with a calm smile, his curiosity obvious in his eyes. "I'm assuming that everything went according to plan?"

Buffy nodded with a careless shrug – too careless – as Spike hesitantly took a seat beside her, unsure of exactly how he was expected to behave at this point. "Sure. No big deal. Slayer fought big bad vampire. Kicked his ass. Not so big and bad any more."

Spike was surprised himself by the soft growl that rose in his throat, resentful of her embarrassing misrepresentation of the way things had gone. Physically, she had not managed to overcome him; they had been quite evenly matched. She would not have been able to overcome him at all without resorting to the sexual methods she had used against him.

The slight tightening of her smile revealed that Buffy had noticed the soft sound that the others probably had not – and she was not exactly pleased. But she let it go and focused on her Watcher as he went on.

"Have you confirmed the success of the ritual in any way, Buffy?" he pressed her mildly. "You've proven that Spike is indeed under your control? Because, it would be quite possible for him to present a façade of submission for long enough to escape you, if necessary."

"Yeah," Xander agreed with a nod. "This is Spike. He's not exactly the picture of honesty…"

"He is, however, still in…the…room," Spike shot back with clear resentment at the way they were speaking about him, as if he were some sort of animal incapable of understanding their conversation.

"Buffy," Xander said with a smirk. "Could you do something about him? That might help to settle the question." He paused, giving the vampire a nasty smile of satisfaction. "I think if Spike managed to make it through the rest of the meeting without saying another word – I'd be convinced."

Buffy hesitated only the briefest moment, in which Spike dared to hope that she might not subject him to any further humiliation in the presence of these people who had kept him a prisoner and mocked and belittled him for weeks now. Whether they knew it or not, in their little circle, his position had actually become elevated since they had last seen him – he was the chosen mate of their leader, the Slayer.

Aside from the whole nasty side effect of dealing with her insanely possessive abusive side – not all in all a bad role to have, he thought.

That is – if she would even acknowledge it.

His hopes were dashed when she reached a casual arm across his shoulder to rest her hand at the back of his neck in a heavily intimidating gesture, her thumb resting warningly above her mark as she sought his eyes.

He reluctantly looked at her, and his helpless anger, hurt – and disappointment – was clear in his eyes, giving her pause.

But only for a moment.

"Spike," she said calmly, smiling easily at him. "Shut up. You'll speak again when I tell you to. Clear?"

He nodded slowly, looking away from her before she could see the wounded look in his eyes.

"Wow," Xander smiled, suitably impressed. "I think I'm convinced."

"It's been five seconds," Willow said dryly.

"Yeah," Xander cracked. "That's gotta be some kind of record."

"Time will tell," Giles mused thoughtfully, studying Spike's stormy expression, his brow creasing in a frown. He looked back to Buffy with a slight shake of his head, breaking his own reverie. "Now, Buffy – do tell us exactly how the ritual came about. This is the sort of momentous event that should be recorded and reported to the Council. I'd like to hear every last detail."

Spike could not suppress the little snort of laughter that escaped him at those words.

No, Rupes, he thought wryly. I really think you don't.

He realized too late that he had drawn the attention of the Scoobies with his reaction, odd to them, considering their perception of what had happened.

"What's funny?" Willow wondered with a frown.

"Yeah," Xander smirked, rising from the table casually and walking around the table toward the drink he had left on the counter. "Don't think you've got much to laugh at, Deadboy…now that you're impotent in every possible way…"

Anger came over the vampire at the cruel words. As Xander passed him, it was simply too tempting. Just a slight movement of his leg, and his foot caught behind the boy's ankle as he passed, knocking him off his feet and backward onto his rear.

There was a moment's stunned silence as the others took in what had happened, and as Xander climbed to his feet, swearing softly under his breath, Spike mentally cursed himself for letting his anger get the better of him, breathlessly waiting and hoping that no one would realize the truth about his chip. It appeared to have been accidental – possibly – and if it was an accident, then the chip wouldn't fire? Right?

The sudden wave of anger from his claimant beside him struck him with a stunning power. He could feel the fury rolling off of Buffy at his foolish actions that would possibly cause the revelation of her secret – at least in part. He felt a sense of fear rising up in him, in spite of his resentful determination not to feel it, overwhelming him in spite of himself. He could feel her blazing glare of anger on him, and did not dare to look up at her.

He was so focused on the powerful emotions he could feel coursing through his bond with Buffy into his own consciousness that he was completely unaware of Xander as he got to his feet beside him.

"The chip," Xander said darkly, glaring threateningly down at the very distracted blonde vampire. "The chip didn't fire. He doesn't have a chip anymore."

"If he ever did," Giles added grimly, his eyes deadly serious, his expression dismayed at this turn of events.

"So," Xander went on, his mouth twisting up in an angry, vindictive smile. "You're not defenseless anymore, huh?" His smile faded, his fist rising to strike as he spat out, "Good!"

Spike was unaware of the bit of conversation, unaware of the threat or the fist flying toward his face, too overwhelmed by the foreign emotions he was feeling so strongly, overwhelming him completely.

And just like that, the pressure of his claimant's anger was lifted, vanished – or – not vanished, exactly.

Redirected.

He was only aware of Xander's intended blow as the Slayer caught the boy's wrist, standing to her feet in the same fluid motion and pushing him backward away from Spike, hard, without releasing his wrist.

Xander cried out in pain as his wrist was wrenched painfully by the motion. "Buffy!" he gasped. "What are you doing?"

"Don't touch him!" she snapped, her voice a menacing growl, as she released her friend with a shove, standing protectively between him and Spike. "Don't ever touch him!"

The dark-haired youth was suddenly terrified by the strange fury he saw in his friend's eyes. There was a very real, even deadly, threat in her expression, and he knew that she would really harm him if he ignored her warning.

In a fearful, trembling voice, he whispered, "Okay! Okay, Buffy! Please, just – calm down!"

The threat to her claimed vampire removed, Buffy slowly returned to herself, her eyes widening with horror on the terrified face of her shaken friend, widening further as they fell on the wrist he was cradling in his uninjured hand. Total silence had fallen over the room, a heavy, shocked silence that could be physically felt.

A single thought went through Spike's head, amidst the mingled apprehension and anticipation of the fallout of this little unintentional revelation.

Looks like the dirty little secret's out now.


	24. Chapter 24

No one moved or spoke for a very long moment, everyone just trying to process what had just happened. Buffy felt a sick, trapped sort of feeling come over her, her mind racing in a desperate attempt to find some plausible answer that would explain, if not excuse, her behavior – any answer but the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, automatically – sincere, but stalling for time.

Those two words are becoming second nature, she thought bitterly.

"Xander, I – I didn't mean to hurt you, she went on, her voice trembling with the shock of what she had done. "Are you – are you okay?"

The boy did not respond, still staring at her in disbelief, and when she took a cautious step toward him, he pulled back in alarm.

"Buffy." Her Watcher's carefully calm voice drew her attention from behind her. "Perhaps you'd better – sit down." She cringed at the measured, even tone of his voice that sounded as if he was trying to talk a suicidal jumper off a ledge.

Much more of this and I will be…

She turned slowly to take in the scene at the table behind her. Giles was watching her closely, concern and alarm in his scrutinizing gaze. Willow was wide-eyed and clearly terrified, staring up at her friend from her seat with a disbelieving look of betrayal, wordlessly asking her how she could possibly have done what she had just seen her do.

How could I do it? Buffy wondered. She had always been careful to remain constantly aware of the great power she possessed, and never to use her full strength with ordinary humans, who could be so easily hurt by her – especially with her friends.

But all she had seen a few moments before was not Xander, not her best friend, but simply someone trying to hurt her vampire – and something inside her had snapped, and all that had mattered to her in that moment was protecting Spike. Her vampire…her…her…

My mate, she thought, her eyes widening, sobered by the impact of the word.

"Buffy."

Her Watcher's cautiously insistent voice called to her again through her swirling thoughts, and she looked up at him through troubled eyes for a moment, before slowly turning and sitting down at the table, her head in her hands as she struggled just to come to grips with the situation.

The atmosphere in the room was still charged with tension, but seemed to ease a bit as she did as Giles asked her, sitting down at the table and giving them the appearance of being somewhat in control again.

Spike ventured a cautious glance up at Buffy, trying to gauge her state of mind, but quickly looked down again, not wanting to draw her attention, not right now while her temper was so volatile. He was well aware that Xander's attack, prevented before it could really begin, ironically was the only thing that had saved him from being the victim of the Slayer's wrath again.

He was not eager to do anything to remind her that he was the one she had originally been angry with.

Anya had risen to her feet in alarm at Buffy's attack on her boyfriend, but it had all happened so fast, and had been over before she could make a move toward them. In retrospect, she was glad. She knew that she could not have stopped Buffy if she had tried, and she had seen how frighteningly dangerous Buffy could be when it came to her "ownership" of Spike.

The evidence of it was right there, spelled out in purple bruises on the vampire's face.

Now that the threat had passed, however, Anya made her way slowly to her boyfriend's side.

As she reached gently for Xander's injured hand, he pulled away irritably. Concerned, she persisted gently, until he jerked away from her and snapped, "Damn it, Ahn, would you leave it alone?"

She tried to tell herself that the trauma and shock of the moment were causing him not to think about what he said, but the sharp words and rejection in response to her gentle concern stung, and Anya quietly withdrew, moving back to her seat.

Xander just stood there, too agitated and upset by what had happened to even notice his girlfriend's dejected retreat. His eyes were still focused on Buffy -- As usual, Anya thought – although she seemed oblivious to them all, her elbows resting on the table and her face hidden in her arms.

"Buffy," Willow finally attempted in a very small, hesitant voice. "Buffy, are you okay?"

Buffy raised her head, her eyes still closed for a long moment as she tried to find the courage to face her friends. "No," she said finally in a defeated voice, "No, I am not okay. I am so not okay that I am completely off the scale of not-ok-ness. In the entire history of 'ok', there has never been anyone less okay than I am. No. I am not okay."

Buffy's calm, if overstated, words, acknowledging the total wrongness of the situation, seemed to take the edge off the shock for the others. Xander finally moved back from across the room to take his seat by Anya again, and Spike felt a sense of vindictive satisfaction when the boy gave the vampire a wide berth on his way.

"Could you tell us what just happened, Buffy?" Giles asked in a quiet but firm voice, his expression serious and very worried. "Why you – reacted – as you did?"

Buffy was quiet for a moment before she spoke, and a subtle glance at her face told Spike that she still intended to try to talk her way out of telling her friends the truth. "I – I don't know," she hedged unconvincingly, not meeting her Watcher's eyes. "I've just been feeling – I don't know – protective? Of Spike. Since the ritual. I don't know why. It's like, if someone tries to hurt him, I feel compelled to stop them."

Unless it's you, Spike thought resentfully. Then you feel the compelled to hurt me to your little heart's content.

Buffy's slight flinch, barely concealed from the others, surprised Spike with the knowledge that she had heard his words. But she went on, deliberately ignoring it, her eyes attentively on Giles as he spoke.

"Well," he said with a thoughtful frown. "I suppose that might make sense. The point of the ritual was to make Spike a part of the 'pack' so to speak, wasn't it? So as the leader, if one of your pack is threatened – even by another member of the pack – it might stand to reason that you would feel the need to defend him."

The others seemed relieved by his words. It gave them a reason, an explanation, for Buffy's frightening behavior – and a possible solution to what they still thought was a relatively simple problem.

"So," Willow voiced their thoughts with a relieved smile. "We just don't try to hurt Spike. Problem solved."

No complaints there, Spike conceded. But what slim hope he had held out for the results of this meeting were quickly vanishing.

He glanced across the table and caught Anya's eye for a moment, saw the same grim disappointment in her eyes. It was beginning to appear that Buffy was going to get away with her little deception. Her friends did not want to believe any wrong of her, and seemed eager to accept whatever explanation was offered to them.

"Wait a second – so I'm suddenly relegated to the same status as Deadboy Junior?" Xander protested indignantly. "I don't think so!"

"In terms of the ritual and its effects – it would appear that that is the case – at least somewhere deep in Buffy's subconscious, some part of her sees you both as members of her pack – equals," Giles said, a bit apologetically. "If either of you were to attack the other, I believe she would have the same reaction."

Xander's mood descended to a level just above outright sulking, and although the Watcher's theory was a million miles from the truth, Spike felt a bit more cheerful just watching the Whelp's reaction to his words.

"The chip, however," Giles went on, his tone darkening a bit, and Spike felt Buffy's fear of her secret's discovery, heard her heartbeat accelerate at his words. "Does appear to be non-functioning after all. I cannot see how it could be a result of the ritual, however."

"No," Buffy agreed with his assessment, shaking her head. "Nothing to do with the ritual. The thing probably just – wore out," she suggested, a bit too eagerly – but of course no one but Spike and Anya noticed.

They didn't want to notice.

The ex-vengeance demon and the silent vampire exchanged a look of resignation. Anya clearly wanted to say something – wanted to stop Buffy's lies and blurt out the truth. He could see it on her face. But she was too afraid of Buffy's fury if she did, too afraid that even the others' best efforts to help would be futile against the Slayer's sheer strength – not that the others would really care that much anyway – not about Spike, anyway.

But Spike was convinced that if they realized that their best friend and unofficial leader was possibly possessed by some violent, malevolent force, they would care about Buffy enough to at least try to do something. The success of their efforts, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. And besides, he did not have the option of telling the others.

His claimant had ordered his silence.

"I had wondered if perhaps it was only a ruse on Spike's part from the beginning – some sort of plan to get to you, Buffy…" The Watcher paused, ignoring the irritated roll of the vampire's eyes at that suggestion, but shaking his head slowly as he went on, "But Spike was genuinely in very poor condition when he came to us, and from what I've seen I'm quite convinced that he did have a chip at the time."

"Which doesn't work anymore," Xander pointed out darkly, glaring at Spike. "Which means he's a danger."

"No, he's not," Anya spoke up quickly, looking suddenly a bit self-conscious when all eyes turned to her with varying levels of surprise – not the least of which was in Spike's sapphire eyes as they shot up to hers. "Well, he's not!" she insisted, a bit defensive at the questioning stares of the others. "Not as long as he's under Buffy's control. He has to do whatever she says, so – so all she has to do is order him not to hurt anyone. So everybody's safe."

"Yeah -- sounds nice," Xander agreed sarcastically. "Except that for some freaky reason, Buffy seems more concerned with Spike's safety than anyone else's. Are we sure that Spike didn't win that stupid ritual?" he said sarcastically. "Cause the whole thing seems to have come out in his favor. The Slayer's protection – no chip…"

Good thing he doesn't know about the non-stop shagging, Spike thought, suppressing a smile in spite of the situation. Then he'd really be convinced that I'd won!

Buffy's widened eyes and red face told him that that particular little observation had not been as private as he'd thought. The sharp kick he received to his shin under the table a moment later, accompanied by a frantically whispered, Shut up! in his mind, made him stifle a yelp of pain – remembering that he had been ordered to silence.

The panic in her eyes held a perverse satisfaction for him though; she was trying so hard to keep her secret, that even his thoughts had her terrified. And then, he had to suppress a laugh, as another thought occurred to him.

I didn't bloody say anything, Slayer! he reminded her. He knew that it would take a good deal more than that to make the Slayer actually do anything to him – she did not want her friends to see the frightening other side she had developed. She would have to be pretty angry to retaliate against him here.

He added with a smirk that she could hear in his mental voice, I think it's all in your bloody head, Slayer -- one of them…

Shut up, she repeated with frustration, and he could hear her anger rising, but her mental voice still sounded weary and weak, and did not hold the strength of her authority behind it, leaving him the option to disobey.

He took it.

Perhaps you're losing your mind, love, he went on in her head, his voice still mocking, but hardening slightly as he allowed his anger at her to creep into his tone. It'd be all right – maybe it'd leave you with just one personality…

The others were still discussing possible explanations for the failure of Spike's chip, but Buffy was as silent as her vampire, engaged in their own private discussion, which she was attempting to cut short.

Spike – shut…up…

Wonder which one you'd get to keep? he mused with falsely friendly interest. Hmm? The real you? Or the psychotic you? Only one thing's for sure…

Spike – I'm warning you…

The dark anger in her voice barely had time to register before he was speaking again, his own voice low with deserved anger, allowing his hurt and fury for the treatment she had given him over the past few days to come out in his tone and words.

Either way, he finished coldly. She'd be a right bitch!

Before he could react Buffy was out of her chair, seizing him by the throat and yanking him up out of his chair, slamming him forcefully into the wall behind it, blazing flames of rage in her darkened eyes of jade.

He gasped for breath that was blocked by her powerful hand at his throat, his hands pulling uselessly at hers as she leaned into his face and snarled, "I told you to shut up!"

She released him suddenly, only to slam her fist across his face, knocking him sideways, following it up with a savage knee to his stomach that doubled him over and sent him to his knees.

He stayed there for a long moment, his ragged gasps for breath the only sound in the room – and Buffy gradually became aware of the unnatural stillness. Her eyes widened as she realized what had happened – realized what her friends had seen and heard – and a feeling of shame came over her at the very idea.

She looked down at the vampire, on his knees at her feet, bracing himself with a hand to the floor in preparation to rise. She stared at him, her piercing gaze drawing his upward. As he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers, she expected to see fear – suspicion – anger – anything but what she saw there.

Triumph.

As Spike slowly got to his feet, his back still to the wall, no room to move away from it with Buffy standing so close, he met her eyes boldly with the barest beginnings of a smirk on his lips, breathing hard as he recovered from the blows she had dealt him. He glanced briefly over her shoulder to see a slow smile forming on Anya's face as she realized what he had done.

Buffy's eyes widened as understanding dawned on her as well – then narrowed in renewed anger. "You did that on purpose," she whispered accusingly. You – you deliberately -- humiliated me…

He gave her a slight shrug, still holding her gaze, not allowing her threatening anger to make him look away. He was still not allowed to speak, so he let his thoughts respond to her.

What can I say, love? I'm evil. He paused, his smile fading as he added, 'Sides…on my knees before you in front of your soddin' Scoobies – not exactly that far from 'humiliating', love…

His words hit their mark, reminding her that hers was the greater offense here – just before she heard Giles clear his throat pointedly behind her.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before she turned to face him.

His ice blue eyes were searching, studying her expression and that of the vampire beyond her – seeing far more in the little scene than the Slayer was comfortable with.

"Buffy," he said finally, his voice soft and mild, but still striking fresh fear through the Slayer's heart. "I believe there's something here you'd deliberately kept from us." He paused, looking down at the table for a moment before meeting her eyes again, leaving no room for argument.

"And I'd very much like to know what it is."


	25. Chapter 25

As Buffy turned to face the very serious face of her Watcher, waiting expectantly for some sort of an explanation for her behavior, her own expression was suitably penitent, her head tucked slightly as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, eyes wide and anxious.

A direct contrast to the powerful wave of rage that her vampire felt roll over him from her direction at the exact same moment.

"Um – Giles – you're right. There's – some stuff I need to tell you about," Buffy admitted in a small, hesitant voice.

Do you have any idea how totally dead you are? she mentally snapped at Spike at the same time.

He flinched slightly at the fury in her thoughts, but the gesture went unnoticed by her friends, written off as a wince at the pain from his freshly split lip and bruising jaw. Besides, they were not really paying that much attention to him at the moment, their wide, shocked eyes focused on their friend the Slayer, wondering if she had truly lost her mind.

He swallowed hard, trying not to show his fear. This was his chance; there was no going back now. He had made his move, and if he played this situation right, he could end up actually getting some help in dealing with Buffy's new and dangerous side – which seemed to be gaining more and more control over her at the moment.

Despite his apprehension at the building temper inside his claimant, he did not want her to regain complete control of it, as she was trying so hard to do – didn't want her to manage to get enough composure back to come up with a convincing lie that her friends and Watcher would certainly believe, they wanted to so badly.

Keeping his mental voice carefully calm, he replied with subtle mockery, Been that way for some time now, love…

Shut up! the snarled words held enough menace to make him jump, though she kept her eyes focused on her Watcher, did not give any visible sign of the conversation taking place in their heads. The full force of her power was in her tone as she ordered, Sit down and shut up!

He moved almost automatically, forced to obey, and took his seat back at the table, mind racing desperately for a way to keep the situation working in his favor, leaving off his quiet taunts and efforts to get to her, as she had ordered.

As he did, Buffy moved slowly back to her own seat, which was unsettlingly close to his own, resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Her whole demeanor, the feelings mingled with the anger Spike felt from her, spoke of fear, shame, and defeat.

He almost felt bad – almost.

"Buffy." The tone of the Watcher's voice conveyed his rising annoyance at having to repeatedly call his Slayer's attention back to the matter at hand.

Buffy reluctantly looked up at him again, obviously trying to gather her courage to speak. Finally, she admitted slowly – and rather vaguely – "Something went wrong with the ritual."

After a brief pause in which she did not seem inclined to reveal any more information, Giles replied, "Obviously." He paused. "The question is, precisely what went wrong, Buffy?"

With a little grimace, Buffy opened her mouth to speak – then stopped suddenly, with a desperate little whimper of frustration. "I can't do this! It's too humiliating – I just can't!"

"I can," Anya promptly declared, earning looks of surprise from the still-clueless remaining Scoobies, horror from the Slayer – and tremendous relief and gratitude from the blonde vampire sitting across the table from her.

"You – you have some knowledge of what's happened, Anya?" Giles asked cautiously, a frown of confusion on his face. "How is it that you would know, when…"

"Anya!" Buffy interrupted, her eyes wide with panic. "No!"

"What? Are you gonna tell him?" Anya demanded skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting the Slayer's eyes with a challenge in her own. "And it has to come out, Buffy. They have to know the truth if they're ever gonna help you get control of this…"

"No!" Buffy roared, suddenly rising to her feet in a menacing stance, eyes blazing with dark rage at the ex-demon, who surprisingly did not seem afraid – or even surprised.

In that moment, Buffy felt such an intense desire to protect her secret – her claim -- that the only thing that mattered to her was shutting the girl up before she could reveal it. In her mind, before she moved, she envisioned going around the table and physically stopping Anya from speaking – a sharp blow to the temple would do it – or even just a quick twist of her neck, and…

The utter horror of that last thought was what it took to bring Buffy back to reality, back to herself, suddenly seeing Anya not as a threat to what was hers, but as the trusted friend she had recently found her to be – and she had been about to…

Eyes wide with shock and dismay, shaking her head in denial of the violent intent she had held toward her friend, Buffy slowly, deliberately, sat back down, her eyes focused on Anya – who, strangely, was very calm, a compassionate, understanding – but unyielding – expression on her face.

"Tell them," Buffy whispered in defeat. "You're right. Tell them. I – I need help."

"Buffy?" Willow's voice was alarmed at those troubling words, though none of her friends had seen anything to reveal the disturbing thoughts that had stopped Buffy in her tracks.

"Anya," Giles quickly redirected the group's attention, turning his gaze to the girl who apparently held at least some of the answers to their current situation. "What do you know about the ritual – about what has happened here?"

"There was more to the ritual than you knew," Anya began quietly. "It – it wasn't just a physical fight involved. It was – more than that."

A pitiful, anguished moan from Buffy drew little sympathy, everyone focused on Anya's words, as the despairing Slayer buried her face in her arms in premature humiliation.

"It did involve a physical battle," Anya went on cautiously, watching the faces of her listeners for their reactions as she spoke. "At the end of which the winner had to force the other to verbally accept their authority, in order to win. And then, as a sign of the fact that they won, and to seal the deal so to speak – they had to perform a ritual of dominance."

"Anya," Giles broke in, a bit impatiently. "We know all that…are you saying that is not what Buffy and Spike did?"

Not even half of it, Watcher, Spike thought ruefully.

"Let me finish," Anya demanded, taking a deep breath and surveying the group again before going on. "The – um – variations – in how you thought it was supposed to go and how it was actually supposed to go – are in what that ritual of dominance was supposed to be." She paused, steeling herself for the explosion before blurting out,

"After Buffy beat Spike in the fight she had to make him have sex with her. That's the ritual of dominance."

"What?" Xander squeaked in shock. "But…how…I mean…what…?"

Willow's eyes were wide and solemn, but she did not say a word, just stared in shock between her best friend, head still buried on the table, and the vampire who was warily taking in the expressions of the others through lowered eyes.

Giles stared at Anya for a moment incredulously, before looking to Buffy, and finding the confirmation that Anya's words were true in the Slayer's mortification. He suddenly became very pale, removing his glasses from his face and wiping them furiously, as he said softly, "Good Lord."

"You really should have studied up on the ritual before you suggested it," Anya pointed out to him matter-of-factly. "You would have known that. I knew, and I told Buffy, and she wanted to go ahead and go through with it."

"Anya," Buffy's voice was muffled as she did not raise her head to speak. "That's enough information…" Her voice sounded weary, resigned to her humiliation, but not ready to face it just yet.

"No, I should say not!" Giles objected, the beginnings of anger in his voice. "That is not anywhere near enough information! How could you do a thing like that, without informing or consulting me, or considering the possible consequences? Buffy…"

"Don't kill her yet," Anya interrupted dryly. "There's more."

"There's more?" Xander repeated, eyes wide with horrified shock. "How can there be more? Buffy slept with Spike?" He paused, suddenly glaring at his girlfriend, "And you knew about it?" His accusing tone took her by surprise, and she stopped suddenly, just as she had been about to go on.

"Xander, do be quiet!" the Watcher snapped tersely. "Anya said there is more, and I believe it's quite important that we know what it is. You two can discuss the personal aspects later if you so choose." He looked to the now very troubled girl again. "Anya – what were you going to say?" he prodded her.

Distracted, Anya shook her head as she tried to refocus on the conversation, her mind worrying over Xander's anger. "Well – they didn't exactly carry out the ritual right. Buffy thought she'd already won and initiated sex with Spike before he'd submitted to her. So – the ritual didn't really ever get finished."

Giles frowned. "But – Spike is behaving quite submissively to Buffy. Why, he hasn't spoken a word since this meeting began. Quite unlike him. So – what happened?"

Anya took another deep breath, hesitant to go on. "Buffy accidentally made a blood bond with Spike."

"What?" This time it was the Watcher who exploded with furious disbelief and horror. "How is that possible? How could she…?"

"In the middle of what she thought was the act of dominance…"

"In the middle of their having sex," Xander practically spat out the words with disgust and resentment.

Anya made herself ignore him and went on, though she was more and more worried by his jealous reaction to the news. "Spike bit Buffy. That's how she knew it wasn't over. And in order to make him submit – well – she – bit him back."

Another moment of utter shocked silence met those words as the humans tried to take it in, finding it very difficult to understand what would have possessed Buffy to do a thing like that.

"Buffy – why…" Willow began, hesitantly, unsure how to frame the question.

Buffy finally raised her head, but did not look at any of them, and they saw that her face was streaked with tears. "I don't know," she whispered with a miserable little shrug. "It just – felt like the right thing to do. At the time. I can't really explain it, except – I thought that was what I was supposed to do – somehow…"

She gave up, and the silence fell again for a few moments.

"It gets worse," Anya said, cringing before the others reacted, in anticipation of their negative response.

"How could it?" Xander demanded bitterly.

"Um – well – as I'm sure you know," she nodded nervously toward Giles, who nodded warily. "a blood bond is permanent. Can't be broken. And – the way it was done – it's a – a claim. Blood was exchanged, and Buffy claimed Spike as hers. And – because it was done – during sex…"

"Dear Lord," Giles interrupted with a moan, his knowledge of vampire lore telling him what the girl was about to say, his hand covering his face as he let out a weary sigh. It was simply too much.

"What? What?" Xander urged him, almost frantically, worry in his eyes.

"It's a mating claim," Willow surprised them all by filling in quietly, her eyes widening in a sort of horrified wonder. At their surprised looks, she shrugged and added defensively, "What? I study!"

"A what kind of claim?" Xander pressed, a stricken look on his face.

"A mating claim," Giles supplied in a quiet voice of resignation. "Spike is Buffy's mate. Until one of them should – should cease to exist, they are bound to each other as one."

Another silent moment allowed them all to take that in.

"Well, that's easy then," Xander finally broke the silence, dark eyes fastening on Spike with undisguised malice. "There's only one solution. Stake Fangless, and Buffy's free."

"No!" Buffy was on her feet in an instant, a furious look of menace on her face, the sound in her throat as she glared down at Xander almost a growl of warning. "Nobody touches him!"

"Okay," Willow said hurriedly, nervously, standing and holding out a hand in the direction of each of her two best friends. "Okay…staking Spike not an option. There will be no staking Spike." She gave Xander a pointed look.

His eyes were a little fearful as they focused on those of the Slayer, and he hurried backed down. "Okay – okay, Buffy, nobody's gonna stake him – okay…"

Visibly calmer, Buffy slowly took her seat again, still giving Xander a suspicious look.

"She's very possessive of Spike," Anya pointed out unnecessarily, watching Buffy with concern. "She wouldn't allow anyone to hurt him." Her eyes found those of the blonde vampire, who was staring at the table with a carefully calm expression throughout the discussion of his fate going on around him. He looked hesitantly up at her as she added pointedly, "Which shouldn't be an option anyway."

She saw the brief flash of gratitude in Spike's eyes, just before he looked away again. They both knew that of the entire group, she probably held the least sway, and if the others were determined to stake him, she would not be able to do much to help him.

Still – the sentiment meant a lot to him.

"Quite right," Giles agreed, much to their relief. "As long as he is under Buffy's control, Spike is still quite harmless. And as long as they are bound to each other, we have no way of knowing what sort of effect it might have on Buffy if he were harmed." He paused, sighing wearily. "This bears much research. We need to find out if there's any way out of the claim without harming either party."

Spike's heart sank, a deep, throbbing ache seeming to come over him at the words.

He didn't want the claim broken.

And judging by the troubled expression on Buffy's face that she tried to conceal from her friends, and the uneasy, confused emotions he felt coming from her – neither did she.

"The problem is," Anya went on quietly. "Buffy's been – well – experiencing moments of – what seems like…"

"Possession," Buffy supplied softly, her eyes wide and haunted as she thought back over the events of the past few days. When they all stared at her, stunned by the word, she explained quietly in a trembling voice, "It's like I'm -- totally not in control. Something just -- takes over me, and -- and -- the things I do..." She shook her head, unable to bring herself to elaborate.

Giles looked to Anya with a troubled, questioning frown.

She just shook her head. "I haven't been there for any of it. Not really. I know what she's told me, and -- and it seems like she gets pretty out of control...but it's only happened full scale when she and Spike have been alone."

The Watcher turned his questioning gaze on the blonde vampire. "Spike..."

Spike looked up at him coolly, making no attempt to respond.

"He can't answer," Willow realized suddenly, her eyes widening with understanding. "Because Buffy ordered him not to talk."

"Which is the only good thing that's come out of this," Xander muttered, glaring out of the corner of his eye across the table at Spike.

"Perhaps not at the moment," Giles mused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully on the uncharacteristically subdued vampire. His gaze turned to Buffy, a slight challenge in his eyes as he went on with a quietly commanding tone. "Perhaps it would be good to hear from Spike on this matter, as he's the only one who's witnessed Buffy in these moments of -- possession, as it were."

Spike's eyes widened in surprise, going quickly to Buffy's face, apprehensive at her reaction to this idea. As he had thought, the Slayer looked almost panicked, trapped, knowing that whatever Spike would have to say on the matter would only serve to further condemn her. She seemed poised to refuse to remove her command of silence, and Spike felt the beginnings of disappointment coming over him -- until the Watcher spoke again, words that he knew the Slayer would not be able to find a reason to argue.

"Unless of course, Buffy -- you have something to hide."


	26. Chapter 26

Buffy stared blankly at her Watcher for a long moment, trying to think of a way out, before realizing with a sense of despair that she was hopelessly trapped by his words. If she refused to remove her order of silence from the vampire now, after what Giles had just said, it would look extremely suspicious to her friends – but if she did allow Spike to speak…

She could not even begin to imagine the humiliation.

What she did not consciously recognize was the other reason why she wanted to continue to enforce his silence. On some level that she was not really aware of, it bothered her to think of relinquishing her power over him, even in that small way. It felt like a loss, in the wake of the victory she felt she had gained the night before.

Or perhaps, some part of her subconscious was aware that if the whole truth came out, her friends would try to help her, and in so doing alter her power, the bond she had formed with Spike. And although she truly wanted help with her problem, was truly frightened and disturbed by the emerging force that seemed to be gaining control of her…

A part of her did not want to let go of it.

Of course, Buffy was not consciously aware of all of this in the moment that followed her Watcher's subtle challenge. All she knew was that if the full truth came out to everyone, she would be completely and utterly humiliated.

And Spike would be dust, she added grimly in her mind.

Calmly, her voice hardly trembling at all, she boldly met Giles' mildly questioning eyes and replied, "No, of course not. I have nothing to hide."

With that, she turned to face the seated blonde vampire, who was watching her closely with a mixture of apprehension and expectancy in his eyes. She knew that he both wanted and dreaded the opportunity to speak; she could see the uncertainty in his expression as to just how much he wanted to tell these people, who really had no reason to be inclined to help him, regardless of how badly Buffy might be treating him.

That thought made her feel a little better. After all, if Spike decided to disclose the worst of what she had done, she could just say that he was lying, and she was confident that her friends would believe her over Spike any day. After all, lying, deception, manipulation – all things that Spike had been guilty of many times in the past. Her friends would easily believe her, for the simple reason that they expected that sort of behavior from Spike.

But not from her.

Buffy pushed aside the feeling of guilt that came along with that train of thought as she gave Spike a false smile that sent a chill down his spine at the menace thinly concealed behind it. She moved casually but purposefully toward him, and he tensed at her approach, his eyes wide with fear, but made no attempt to get away from her.

After all, he had been ordered to sit there, and was still bound by her command.

He flinched as she reached a hand toward the back of his neck, resting it there in a gesture that appeared casual and almost friendly – but was in reality anything but either.

"Spike," she said in a deceptively gentle voice, her words slow and deliberate for her friends' sake, making it clear that she was doing as they had requested. "Go ahead. You can talk. You have my permission." She stressed the last word with a little smirk of satisfaction at the flash of helpless anger in Spike's eyes.

Although she had just freed him to speak, and he was clearly furious with her at the moment, the none-too-subtle threat of her hand, in that dominating, possessive position, so dangerously near to her mark, was a warning that the others missed, but that served to keep him quiet for the moment, as he carefully considered what to say. The unspoken message was very clear.

He may have permission to speak, but the wrong words spoken would still be punished – and severely.

He lowered his eyes with a submissive nod of his head, an answer to her spoken words for the benefit of her friends, and to her unspoken command that he dared not ignore. She looked up at her friends with a satisfied nod of her own and an expectant look around at each of them in turn, her hand remaining at the back of Spike's neck in what somehow seemed a very natural gesture.

The very "natural" but deliberate eye contact she kept with her friends prevented them from noticing the subtle, massaging motion of her thumb along the edge of her mark.

Quiet, she warned him in his mind…

…Just in time, as an intense wave of sensation flowed through him at the soft touch, and he forced back a low moan at the feeling, knowing that by the command she had just spoken in his head, she had not rescinded the freedom she had just given him, but meant for him not to reveal what she was doing at the moment.

The touch only lasted a moment or two, not long enough to draw the attention of any of the others, but the powerful mixture of emotions that it sent through him was overwhelming. In her touch he felt the promise of exquisite reward if he should please her in this situation, or terrifying punishment if he should fail, a dizzying sense of her power effusing it all, as he obediently fought not to allow any of it to show on his face.

As she smoothly removed her hand with a light caress, slipping into her seat beside him, he felt the loss of her touch intensely, almost as strongly as the touch itself. Her smug little smile told him that she knew how she had affected him, and he looked down at the table again, both in shame at his uncontrollable reaction to her, and in an effort to conceal the emotions no doubt obvious on his face at the moment.

"Spike?" The Watcher's voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he tried to get the vampire's attention in a mildly prodding tone. "Can you tell me anything about these periods of – possession – Buffy's been experiencing? How does Buffy – behave – when this phenomenon occurs?"

When Spike looked up at the man's face, he realized immediately that Giles had misread his downcast eyes, his apparent hesitance to speak. The pity, mingled with surprise, in the Watcher's eyes was unexpectedly infuriating to the master vampire, reduced to such a state against his will, that an aging, stuffy ex-Watcher was feeling sorry for him.

And the fact that Buffy was trying to strong arm him into keeping his mouth shut about the whole thing – still trying to protect her "dirty little secret" from her friends – only increased his anger, born of hurt and rejection. Was she that ashamed of him – of claiming him – that she thought it would be the end of the bloody world if her friends found out about some of the…er…changes…in their relationship?

Because he knew that her Scoobies couldn't care less whether or not the Slayer knocked him around a bit. No, the part that Buffy was so worried about hiding had to be the more personal bits – the need, the desire for him that she tried so hard to bury with violence and rejection again and again.

It was not the fact that she had hurt him – but the fact that she wanted him – that Buffy was ashamed of, he was sure.

And that hurt.

"Besides the fact that she's a bloody bitch with a self-righteous attitude who thinks the whole soddin' universe is completely centered around her and what she wants?" he smirked, anger flashing in his crystal blue eyes as he glared up at Giles, as angry at his sympathy as he was with Buffy's abuse. "Because that bloody well sums it up!"

He glanced beside him at the Slayer, saw her hands in front of her on the table ball into fists, her jaw set with anger she was struggling to repress, and knew that he should be more careful with his words, that he should try his best not to anger the person that had complete power over him at the moment and, when all was said and done, would be taking him home when the meeting was over.

He also knew that at the moment he could not bring himself to care.

"You probably need to be a little more specific, Spike," Anya offered matter-of-factly, without a trace of sarcasm. "I mean, that's pretty general. She doesn't really have to be in a period of possession to be like that. Or even just a regular period. Really, Buffy can kind of tend to be like that most of the…"

"Ahn," Xander's carefully calm voice interrupted her, his hand on her arm doing more than his words to silence her, and she looked up to see his eyes focused on Buffy, slightly widened and alarmed. "Maybe it's not a good idea to insult the really stressed out, sometimes-scary-even-when-not-possessed Slayer until we know exactly what she's being possessed by, okay?"

"Who's insulting?" Anya shot back, hands raised in front of her defensively. "I'm just saying, he needs to give us something to work with that's different from how Buffy normally is, instead of just…"

She stopped when her own eyes fell on Buffy, who was still seated, an expression of fury in her darkened green eyes. She looked as if she was focusing very hard at the moment on simply not hitting something – or someone.

When she spoke, her voice was frighteningly calm, though her eyes flashed dark fire. "See – this was a bad idea," she said slowly, with an unpleasant little smile. "Spike's favorite pastime now that he can't bite anyone – chip or no chip..." she hurried to remind them when her friends looked poised to correct her. "…is to stir up as much trouble as possible. He's not going to tell you anything useful, and if all he can do is sit here and insult me, then I'm about ready to make him shut up again…"

"Buffy," Giles interrupted her cautiously. "Try to calm down. I realize this is a stressful situation, but we must attempt to find out what is happening to you if we are going to stop this. And, as you are apparently not in very much control of yourself during these – episodes – and no one besides Spike has witnessed them thus far – I dare say we need him to speak, for the moment."

Buffy's instinct for self-preservation -- for the preservation of her relationships with the people in the room, more specifically – won out, and she fought back the rage building in her, determined to keep control of the situation and not give her friends a first hand view of the "episodes" Giles was talking about.

She took a deep breath, her eyes closed for a moment, before letting it out with a nod of resignation. "Fine."

"Now," the Watcher went on, turning his attention back to Spike. "Without using any terms specifically designed to further infuriate Buffy – could you describe her behavior during these episodes?"

Spike thought for a moment about the best way to respond, remembering Buffy's menacing wordless threat before – and his mind flashed back over the past few days. The violence – the hurtful words – the way she had used him with no regard for his feelings…

And suddenly…making her angry seemed worth the risk. As angry as he was, he really didn't care.

"Let's see," Spike began, an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on his face as he considered his response, and then began counting off on his fingers as he spoke, "Controlling…possessive…violent…unreasonable…" He paused, glancing up at her with a venomous look, hesitating for only a moment before he finished, "Oh, yes…and constantly desperate for a shag…"

He paused, smirking in spite of – no, because of – the shocked fury in her wide green eyes. "Oh, wait," he shrugged carelessly, putting from his mind the knowledge that he was going to pay for his words later. "We're talking about things that are only true during your possessed moments, aren't we? That last one's pretty much true all the time, in'nit?"

Not possessed at the moment, just utterly furious at Spike's deliberate effort to embarrass her, Buffy's eyes narrowed in anger and she drew back her fist as she moved toward the vampire, who for the moment was unafraid, glaring back at her defiantly, his own fists ready to strike.

"Dear Lord," Giles gasped, his eyes widening as he stared at Buffy, taking in what Spike had just said, too stunned by his words and the disturbing images they called to mind to even notice the developing clash before him.

And his words drove the breath – and the rage – from Buffy, as she suddenly realized just how much Spike's words had revealed. She froze as it hit her all at once, her fist opening as she covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, God," she moaned, her words muffled by her hands.

"It's not so strange," Anya shrugged, frowning, not understanding what all the fuss was about. "It's sex. They performed a freakin' mating claim, for goodness sake. What do you think they're gonna wanna do, bake cookies?"

"I can't hear any more of this," Xander announced, his voice trembling with anger as he stood up from the table. "This is – this is just…" His tone, his expression, as he shook his head and gave up on words, finished the statement for him. Disgusting, Buffy knew he had wanted to say.

"Look – I'm not Book Guy anyway. You guys don't need me here. And I really don't need me here," Xander excused himself in a low voice of barely restrained fury. "I'm outta here."

"Xander," Anya tried, concerned, reaching for his arm.

He shook her off, snapping, "Leave it, Ahn. I need to be – not here."

Torn, realizing that there was still much to be resolved, and she should be there, but wanting to be supportive of her boyfriend, Anya reached for her purse.

Catching the motion out of the corner of his eye on his way to the door, Xander turned and added impatiently, "And not with you…right now…okay? See you later." Without waiting to see how his words were received, he stormed out the door.

Anya's expression was completely still – calm. She had been a vengeance demon for a thousand years – she should be above the pain of human emotion. The rejection of this mere mortal that a year ago she could have destroyed with a word should not cause the utter devastation that a mortal girl might feel at such harsh words.

She kept telling herself as she stood there, just trying not to cry.

Anya's words, however blunt, had sunk in for Giles, and he realized that however disturbing the fact of Buffy and Spike sleeping together might be for him, it did fall into what might be classified as "normal" for a mating claim such as they had initiated. And while he did want to do some studying and look into ways of breaking the claim – at the moment there was something that concerned him more.

"Anya is quite right," he said quietly, drawing Buffy's eyes up out of her hands to meet his in surprise. "The desire for intimacy with Spike is a part of the claim you've invoked. The – the thing that worries me, Buffy, is not that, but – but this violent rage that seems to overcome you at times. And that is the thing that I feel must be our priority to eliminate. The violence – that's what I'm thinking about."

Buffy stared at him with a dark, troubled look for a moment before turning her gaze to Spike, her eyes narrowing in anger. "That's what I'm thinking about, too," she replied softly.

Spike's anger was softened by the intensity of the emotions in the room at the moment, not the least of which was Anya's hurt, which he was too perceptive to miss. His temper had faded, and Buffy's cold words, meant much differently than her Watcher perceived them, sent a shiver down the vampire's spine.

Oblivious, Giles went on, "Willow – would you help me research?"

The redhead nodded without hesitation, her green eyes wide and sober with thought.

"I'm going to do some reading on the dominance ritual, as well as anything I can find on vampire sexual rites such as mating claims. We need to find anything that might explain the unusual – reaction – you seem to be having," Giles went on.

Buffy nodded slowly. "I think we'll just go home then," she said quietly, calmly. "I'm – I'm really exhausted." That much at least was true, Spike knew. "Let me know if you find anything." Her tone suggested that she could care less at the moment what the Watcher might find.

Alarmed, Spike opened his mouth to suggest that someone go with them, that he stay with someone else, anything but that he go home alone with the Slayer. His pride didn't seem to matter in that moment – not faced with the stormy fury building in her eyes, now almost black with rage.

Before he could say a word, he heard her soft but commanding voice in his head, Quiet.

He closed his mouth immediately, having no other choice, swallowing hard as he realized the situation he had made for himself. What was he thinking, deliberately baiting her as he had done? Had he really thought that revealing everything to the bloody Scoobies would be in the least bit helpful to him? How could it, when they didn't even see him as a person, worthy of their consideration at all?

Their only concern was Buffy, and they would attempt to find a way to fix the situation, if only for her sake. But in the meantime, where did that leave him? The only answer that mattered at the moment was dreadfully simple.

No one really cared.

"Yes, Buffy, quite right," Giles agreed, distracted, his mind already racing with various ideas and theories. "Go on home. We'll let you know if we find anything worth reporting."

"Thanks," Buffy sounded equally distracted, a cold smile forming on her lips as she met Spike's eyes with amusement and said casually, "Come on, Spike." But she made it an order he could not refuse, and then headed for the door without looking back to see if he was coming.

She knew he would.

Helplessly, having no other choice, the vampire followed the Slayer out the door of the apartment and to whatever fate might await him on the other side.


	27. Chapter 27

If Spike's heart had beat at all, it would have been pounding as he followed the Slayer out of the little magic shop, toward her house. Every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to flee, or to attack – anything but the obedience that seemed to happen automatically, his will subject to the command of his claimant. But he knew that the first option was impossible, and the second was insanity, considering how easily she could put a stop to any attempts to attack her.

And the consequences for such an act of insanity were something he did not even want to begin to consider.

Buffy did not say a word to him, did not even wait for him to catch up, as she stalked down the sidewalk toward her house; she knew that he would follow, having no choice but to obey her command to come with her. She needed no words at the moment, her very stance speaking of a terrible fury that he found very disturbing, considering that he would very soon be alone with her in a place private enough for her to unleash that fury if she so chose.

And he was pretty bloody sure that she would so choose.

He struggled to catch up with her furious pace, wanting to at least make the attempt to diffuse some of her anger before they reached her house. They were walking down the sidewalk of downtown Sunnydale, and though it was late, there were still a few people about.

He did not think that she would harm him in public, though the prospect of the Slayer being locked up for domestic violence was somewhat entertaining. Sunnydale's rather inept police would not be likely to believe her excuse that he was not really a "person" – just a member of the evil undead – and therefore battering him was perfectly legal.

Of course – seeing said inept police attempt to actually take her into custody would be just as hilarious, he knew.

"Buffy," he said, a bit breathless with nerves, not exertion, as he didn't need to breathe at all, really. Scared to death of her reaction, but knowing that he just had to try, he tried to placate her in a quiet, cautious tone, just as he came up beside her. "Buffy, love – let me explain…"

As he caught up to her, without a word in response, the Slayer gripped his arm in an iron hand, turning suddenly and steering him forcefully with her into a darkened side alley off of the main street. Within a matter of seconds from the moment he had opened his mouth to explain, he was slammed hard against the brick wall of the building behind him, a hard hand over his mouth shoving his head back against it with a painful impact, and muffling his moan of pain.

He could feel the heat radiating off of the Slayer's small but powerful body as she pressed in close to him, her eyes narrowed in anger as they met his. "I don't want you to explain, Spike," she informed him in a frighteningly calm, cold whisper. "I don't want you to say a single word. It's your freakin' mouth that's gotten you into this, and if you open it again before I tell you to…"

She removed her hand from his mouth, and he drew in a gasping breath – just before her fist smashed across his face in a blinding backhand blow that knocked his head into the wall again. He saw stars, and felt his knees buckle, struggling to stay on his feet as she gripped his hair and yanked him back up, leaning in close to his face to finish her threat with a cruel smile on her face.

"…I'll just order you to keep it shut for good, Spike. How would you like that? Personally, loud mouth annoying pain in the ass that you are, always running your mouth – I think you'd stake yourself in a week if you couldn't talk. Save me the trouble."

The threat was terrifying to him, the thought of being permanently silenced, the knowledge that she could actually do it, sending a shudder of fear through him with the reminder of just how thoroughly buggered he really was in this situation.

Not daring to speak, he just shook his head desperately, emphatically, his blue eyes pleading with her not to carry out her threat, his silence a promise of his obedience. He hated being so completely under her power, but knew that defiance at this point would be no less than utter stupidity.

His submission seemed to calm her, and she released him, stepping back away from him a little. He leaned back against the wall for a moment, breathing hard, overwhelmed with relief, but not daring to move until she indicated that she wanted him to. He had quickly learned that the only way to bring Buffy out of the frightening state she was in at the moment was to yield to her the submission she desired.

But at the moment, it did not appear to be working.

His already rapid breathing quickened as she moved in close again, a slow smirk spreading across her face. His entire body tensed as she brought her hand up to stroke gently down his cheek, and he fought his instinct to pull away, knowing it would only infuriate her further.

Her smile widened slightly, and he could feel that she was pleased with his compliance, as her hand drifted down, gently pushing his head back, and he yielded to her touch, not moving as her fingertips fell lightly over her mark on his throat, caressing in a feather-light touch through the soft fabric that covered it.

The sensation of pleasure was all the more powerful for being so completely unexpected. He had thought that she would surely use the power of her mark to punish him, to remind him of her authority and make him pay for defying it before. But the intensity of the sensation he felt building inside him at the touch was not at all painful, and made him long for more, made him long not only for her hand, but her mouth, on the mark, reclaiming him and filling him with the powerful pleasure of belonging.

When she drew her hand back, he unconsciously leaned toward her, aching for the contact she had ceased, and a soft, throaty laugh rolled from the Slayer's throat.

"You want me to touch you, Spike?" she said in soft mockery. "You want me to make you mine again?"

He nodded desperately to both questions, his eyes closed, gasping for breath. He dared not speak, but in his mind he was crying out. Please…please, Buffy, yes…I need it…

"Really?" she murmured, dark green eyes wide with false surprise. "You need me? You want to be mine?"

Yes, yes…please…

Her eyes narrowed with anger as she demanded, "Then why were you trying to ruin it?"

The light, almost tickling motion of her fingertips on his throat did not change, but suddenly the pleasurable sensation became tiny electric jolts of pain, and he felt a tremor of dread coursing through him. He shook his head pleadingly, knowing where this was headed, and desperate to head it off.

"Please…I wasn't…please, Buffy…"

Instantly her hand smacked back over his mouth, and he winced with pain as she hissed, "Shut up! Did I tell you you could talk?"

He hadn't even realized that he had – not aloud.

Not waiting for a response that she obviously did not want, she went on, "Why would you deliberately tell them something that you knew would only get them upset about the whole thing? Now Giles is looking for a way to break the claim! Is that what you want, Spike? You want this claim broken?"

He flinched from the cold threat in her words, a new fear coming over him at the thought, and he shook his head, swallowing hard and closing his eyes against the tears he felt rising. The claim was still for the most part one-sided. If she wanted to, Buffy could reject him – decide she did not want the vampire she had claimed after all, and send him away. His unaccepted claim would fade with time, and she would get over it.

But he never would. He was eternally bound to her by her claim, and her rejecting him would not change that.

No…no…

"Because if you want to be rid of me that badly," she continued relentlessly, and he was surprised to hear a trace of hurt behind the bitter anger in her voice. "We don't have to wait for them to find an answer." Her eyebrows raised in a challenging smirk, as she suddenly released him completely, stepping back a couple of steps from him and adding, "You wanna go? Go on. I won't stop you."

His wide blue eyes focused on hers in stunned terror. He shook his head slowly, as he whispered, "No…no, Buffy…I don't want…"

"What are you waiting for?" she interrupted him in a voice that trembled with fury, rising with each word as she taunted him. "You wanna go so bad? Get out of here! Go!"

His voice shook with tears that he did not bother trying to hide as he stepped toward her on trembling legs, still shaking his head. "No – Buffy, please – don't make me…"

Instantly she was back upon him, gripping his arms and shoving him back again, pressed between the wall and her body, oppressively close. "Don't make you what?" she asked in a low, hushed voice that sent shivers down his spine. "Don't make you what? Leave me?"

He nodded desperately, tears streaking his face, as she raised a gentle hand to wipe one away.

"Thought that was what you wanted," she said softly, a question in her expression, but the anger fading with her proven point. "I thought you wanted to get away. Isn't that why you told my friends everything, after I specifically told you not to?"

"No," he whispered miserably, choking back a sob. "No, Buffy, that's not…I mean…"

"Then why?" she pressed him, her hands on his arms easing their painful grip, her voice softening with something resembling tenderness. "Why would you do what you did?"

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry, Buffy…I just…I was just…"

"What?" she prompted when he stopped. "You were just what, Spike?"

He was silent for a long moment before replying in a barely audible whisper, "Afraid."

Her hands slid gently up and down his arms in a comforting gesture, as she pulled him in closer to her, and he found himself leaning into her embrace automatically. He knew that he shouldn't – knew that she was hurting him worse with this kindness than with her violence before – but he simply couldn't help the overwhelming relief he felt at her acceptance, after the threat of her rejection.

"You don't have to be," she assured him in a tender whisper, one hand rising to stroke softly through his hair in a gesture that was both soothing and possessive. "You have nothing to be afraid of, if you do as you're told." She paused, before adding in a gently reproving voice, "If you'd done as I told you tonight, none of this would have happened. If you hadn't made me so angry, telling my friends after I told you that I didn't want them to know, I wouldn't have hurt you."

It's your fault, the message behind her words echoed in his mind, and he fought not to allow himself to believe it, a part of his mind rebelling, though another part of him wanted to accept it as truth – simply because she had spoken it.

Shouldn't have told, he told himself. Not like they can do anything, anyway. Hers now…nothing anyone can do to change that.

Although he had already accepted the truth of the matter, her next words, spoken softly in a calm, soothing tone, sent a chill down his spine.

"Besides – it's not like any of them would care to help you anyway."

He froze in her arms, feeling the trap tighten around him that much more. She was right. The Watcher, Red and the boy, none of them cared about what was happening any further than how it affected Buffy. They wanted to help her, but could not have cared less what happened to him. If she killed him in one of these spells, before they could bring her back to herself for good, it did not matter to them, so long as they managed to find an answer before she hurt someone who actually mattered.

Anya cared, and had made an effort to help tonight – and he knew that she would again, as soon as she managed to get her mind off her own personal problems with the self-centered boy she was dating who did not deserve her. She had been too preoccupied with Xander's thoughtless rejection to even notice when they had left, and she was the only ally that Spike had at the moment.

After a few moments, the Slayer drew out of the embrace, slipping a possessive arm around Spike's waist and leading him out of the alley, and down the mostly deserted street toward her house.

They made the rest of the walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. He could feel the difference in her, knew that although her anger had faded, she was still not quite herself, and was careful to remain quiet and compliant with her demands, not wanting to take a chance of setting off another violent outburst.

It worried him, however, that his submission had not yet brought the Slayer back the control of herself that it had returned to her the other times. It seemed that with each episode, the violence increased, and that even in her lucid moments, Buffy seemed to be more easily angered by him – less in control. He wondered if whatever malevolent force was controlling her was becoming more dominant somehow. If so, would it eventually take over?

Would Buffy lose herself completely to it?

As they entered the house on Revello Drive, Spike wondered idly when the Slayer's mum would be returned home. Buffy had said that she was out of town on some sort of business trip, and that was why she had free reign of the house like this. He wished that the woman would return. He had only spent a brief amount of time with her here and there, but she had always been kind to him, and he knew that she would not approve of her daughter's recent behavior toward him.

He wondered what Buffy planned to do with him once her mother returned. After all, what with Red being her roommate, and the whole utter lack of privacy in general that accompanied dorm life, she could hardly keep him with her in her dorm room on campus. And he was fairly certain that she would not want her mother to have any idea of what was going on. Perhaps, out of necessity, he would be granted a certain measure of freedom again.

And the first moment I'm free of the nasty little bitch, he thought bitterly. I'll leave this soddin' town forever and never come back.

Yeah, he added wearily a moment later, and while I'm at it, think I'll take up sunbathing, then take a dip in holy water to cool off.

Buffy took off her jacket and hung it up on the rack just inside the door, while Spike waited nervously for some instruction from her, unsure of what she would expect of him now, and hesitant to act in any way for fear of invoking her wrath.

Because he could still feel the odd presence that seemed to surround her any time he did anything to rebel against the authority of her claim. He had done his best to obey her since leaving the Magic Box – and still he knew that she was not back in control yet. His nerves were so taut by this point that he thought he would lose his mind if something didn't change soon.

And then – it did.

In the next moment, two things happened at once.

A familiar but unexpected voice was heard from upstairs, in combination with hurried footsteps heading toward the stairs. "Buffy? Is that you?"

The Slayer's head turned toward the stairs in surprised recognition, not having expected the speaker to be home. And at the exact same moment that she became aware of the person's presence, Spike was stunned to see an instantaneous change in her eyes – feel the instant release of the tension that was created by her altered state of mind. He could see the reality of the past few hours sink in for Buffy, her eyes widening in stricken shame and disbelief at what she had done, at the same moment as a slim brunette made her way bounding down the stairs to greet her older sister.

And Spike wondered with fascination what it was about the presence of the youngest Summers woman that had the power to bring Buffy back so suddenly. Really, when it came right down to it, he didn't care how it had happened – only that it had, as the tremendous sense of relief washed over him.

Whether she knew it or not, the vampire had just found another ally in an unexpected place.

Dawn Summers.


	28. Chapter 28

"Dawn!" Buffy's surprised greeting lacked some of its impact, due to her distraction, her mind still aghast at the thought of her own cruel behavior over the past hour or so. "What are you doing here?"

The fourteen-year-old pouted momentarily at the less-than-enthusiastic greeting from her sister, whom she rarely saw anymore, before replying dryly, "I still live here. Remember?" She glanced past Buffy, her expression showing surprise and excitement – quickly smothering the second emotion – when she noticed the rather shaken blonde vampire, still standing in the foyer.

"Hey, Spike," she said casually, her automatic smile at him quickly fading as she took in his battered appearance. "What happened? Did you guys run into something scary on the way here? And why are you guys here, anyway? Not that you're not totally scary," she hastily added for Spike's benefit, though utterly unconvincingly. "because you are – or – you would be – if you could – actually hurt me – but – anyway…"

Her awkward little ramble came to a slow stop as she reached him, and her soft green eyes took in his numerous bruises, his bleeding mouth, and the look of mingled fear and utter exhaustion in his wide blue eyes. She met his gaze with concern, as she asked softly, "What happened?"

Spike glanced anxiously up at Buffy, wondering if she had noticed the easy, comfortable manner in which Dawn was speaking to him. Primal-possessive-Buffy seemed to have taken a hike for the moment. Meanwhile, real-Buffy was too caught up in her own self-loathing to notice anything out of the ordinary about the interaction.

Relieved, Spike looked back to Dawn, a flood of memories washing over him at the sight of her.

He had first seen the Slayer's little sister two years before. Just a glimpse, as Buffy had tersely ordered her upstairs as she had entered the house with him and her mother, just prior to the whole Acathla incident. The girl's eyes had narrowed in defiance, her mouth had opened to object – but then, sharp emerald eyes had taken in Buffy's furious face, and realized that something was seriously wrong.

In an act of obedience that Spike would eventually learn was most uncommon for Dawn Summers – especially when the command was coming from Buffy – the twelve-year-old girl had turned without a word and gone up the stairs, leaving the adults to discuss the literally life-or-death matter at hand.

But that had not kept her from hiding at the top of the stairs and listening as Spike and Buffy had made a plan to save the world. Buffy had not been aware that her little sister was within earshot – but Spike's sense of smell, and the sound of Dawn's racing heart, had alerted him to her presence.

He had known right then that the Slayer's little sister was a stubborn one, and clever – and would one day be a force to be reckoned with.

The next time he had met Dawn Summers had been over a year later, in her mother's kitchen, as he had sat pouring out his shattered heart to Joyce, who had displayed such gentleness and understanding to him in the wake of Dru's infidelity and rejection.

That encounter with the youngest Summers had lasted only a few moments, as she had been sent from the room after following up their formal introduction by remarking on how, for a vampire, he really wasn't very scary, crying over a mug of hot chocolate with her mom -- and was he drunk?

Joyce could not seem to get Dawn out of the room fast enough that night.

He was not sure if Buffy had ever found out about those brief, accidental encounters. If she had, she would not have been surprised by them. But he knew that she knew nothing of the other times he had spent with her mother and sister.

Buffy had found out about his presence in Sunnydale – again – over the whole nasty Gem of Amara incident – but what she did not know was that by that time, Spike had actually been back in Sunnydale for several months already.

When Dru had dumped him for the second time, he had known in his heart that it was really and truly over, and he had felt utterly lost – completely alone. Without Dru, he didn't even know who he was – she had literally made him.

Her accusations of secret feelings for the tiny blonde Slayer in Sunnydale echoing in his mind, he had driven all night in his blacked out Desoto, no definite destination in mind – and found himself when he finally stopped to think, not only in Sunnydale, but driving slowly down the Slayer's street. As soon as he realized where he had unconsciously ended up, he had cursed his own too-soft emotions and driven away.

But once he found out that the Slayer was living in a dormitory on campus across town, instead of at home, the temptation of Joyce Summers' warm, nurturing manner and perfectly made hot chocolate had been too much for his comfort-starved heart to resist, and he had found himself once again outside the house on Revello Drive, ringing the doorbell with his heart in his throat – because Buffy had surely told her mother about that little kidnapping incident, and if she turned him away he would likely just stay there on the porch and meet the sunrise.

He had been that desperate, that alone – devastated by Dru's betrayal after over a hundred years of his loyal devotion to her.

One look into his expressive blue eyes, and Joyce had welcomed him in without question, fussing over him like a long lost son, freely offering him the comfort that only a mother knows how to give. Her gentle manner had given him the freedom to open up to her, to cry on her shoulder, and before the night was through, he had somehow found the strength to go on again.

Of course – he would have been foolish to think that they would make it through the entire night without even a mention of the kidnapping.

When Joyce had given him that stern, maternal look and asked him what on earth he had been thinking, why he had done something so dangerous, he had felt an odd quiver in his stomach that he had not felt in well over a hundred years – not since the last time his own mum had caught him out at something.

"You saw me then," he had protested in a beseeching voice, throwing himself on the mercy of the woman – who fortunately had more of it to spare than her daughter did. "I was a bloody wreck!"

"Over Drusilla – again." Joyce had shaken her head with concerned disapproval, her eyes alight with protective anger – and the realization that it was over him, that she had subconsciously taken him as one of her own, brought an unexpected warmth to his heart. "She's no good for you, Spike," she had advised him gently. "That girl just gets you into trouble. You know, Buffy thinks you're the one who's so dangerous – but – I've never seen you do anything seriously wrong when it wasn't about Drusilla, Spike."

The obvious fact of the statement had made him chuckle. "Kind of the way it works, Joyce," he had reminded her softly. "She's my sire. She made me what I am to begin with."

"See?" Joyce had taken his words as more proof of her own point. "That alone should tell you she's bad for you. What you need is a girl like my Buffy."

Spike had nearly choked on his hot chocolate. As it was, it scalded his mouth severely as he stared at Joyce, aghast. The very suggestion shocked and horrified him – perhaps a bit too much – as he remembered Dru's fateful words again.

He had protested emphatically that the very idea was bloody insane. She was the Slayer, and he was a vampire – not to mention the fact that she drove him bloody bug shaggin' crazy.

Joyce had graciously ignored the second argument, pointing out that that did not seem to be a problem for her daughter; she could get used to the fact that he was a vampire. She liked him, she had told him with a shrug. He would be so much better for Buffy than that horrible Angel. She never had liked him.

The satisfied smirk that rose at those words had died at the knowing look on Joyce's face.

And the more vehemently he argued, the more convinced of her own theory Joyce appeared to become, though she wisely did not push the issue. He had left the house that night with an unsettled feeling in his stomach, troubled by the unspoken suggestion behind Joyce's words.

But he had come back – again and again.

Many times when he had come over, Dawn had been around. As odd a match as it seemed, the three of them would sit and talk, or watch movies, just enjoying each other's company, as he allowed their friendship to heal his broken heart, and Joyce and Dawn allowed him to become a surrogate son and brother in the absence of the Slayer, who was apparently very busy with her new college life – judging by the unimpressive frequency of her visits home.

Joyce seemed to have no problem whatsoever with Dawn spending time with Spike – and that simple bit of trust served to draw him in closer, tighter into the embrace of the Slayer's family. Before long, he began to feel as if these two humans were his family, and ended up at their home most evenings.

The decided that it would be wisest not to tell Buffy. After the unfortunate drunken kidnapping incident, Buffy had been very emphatic with her mother about not letting Spike into the house. Joyce was a grown woman, with excellent instincts, and she had known upon first sight of Spike at her door that night, that he was a far greater danger to himself at that point than to anyone else.

She knew what she was doing, and did not need her daughter's permission to choose a friend.

They knew that there was no way Buffy was going to understand. So, his friendship with Buffy's family remained a secret – and, as Joyce tactfully did not bring the subject up again, Spike just tried to forget the troubling feelings beginning to surface inside him for the Slayer.

But he found that he could not forget.

With each day, his thoughts of her increasingly took over his mind, joined by a furious resentment at the fact that he could not seem to get her out of his head. In desperation, he had come to the conclusion that the only solution was to kill her -- but he simply could not bring himself to try. He told himself that it was because of Joyce and Dawn; they would never forgive him if he did it – and to a point, that was the reason.

But it was not by any means his only reason.

The nights when he was not with Joyce and Dawn, he began to spend on the campus of UC Sunnydale, telling himself that it was just a good hunting ground – he was not looking for Buffy! He wasn't! But when he quite "accidentally" happened to find her, on occasion, he wound up sticking around to watch her in action, mesmerized by her grace and power, and wanting her more with each moment, though he never allowed her to know that he was there.

The point came when even the slight family resemblance between Dawn and Joyce, and Buffy, became too much for him, filling his mind with her image even when she was not there. Abruptly, he had stopped his visits to the Summers' home – and as they had no idea where he was staying, there was nothing Joyce and Dawn could do to find him.

He knew that his sudden rejection had to hurt them, but he simply could not stand the constant reminder of the tiny, powerful, amazing blonde that he did not want to admit he wanted so desperately.

Not when he knew that he could never have her.

When he had met Harmony, in a bar one night when the Slayer's image was particularly vivid in his mind, and she had come onto him very blatantly, he had jumped at the chance to distract himself from his doomed obsession, to put a new face on the blonde that haunted his dreams and waking moments – if only for a few hours.

Harmony had wanted more from him than a few hours, however. She had her own slightly schewed version of the American dream, vampire style, in her head; and while the chit was bloody annoying as hell, she was a good shag, and a welcome distraction from the other blonde woman in his life – the one who would never even consider him.

For a while.

When he had found the Gem of Amara, he had thought that this was his chance to be rid of the Slayer and her power over him once and for all. When he had approached her on the campus grounds, and overheard her discussion with Parker, he had been furious with jealousy – and it had shown in the power of his attack, even in the words he had chosen to bait her with during the fight.

And he might even have won that fight – except for two pivotal moments.

At one critical moment, his eyes met Buffy's – and suddenly, he knew that something in him would not allow him to destroy this vibrant, passionate, incredible girl that he lov – was obsessed with. He just couldn't.

But he had to! he told himself desperately. If he did not, he would never be free of her. A hundred years with Dru had taught him something about himself – when he fell, he fell hard – and he didn't get up, he stayed "fallen".

He had continued his attack with renewed power, until he was suddenly frozen yet again, by one look at the Slayer's face. A subtle movement of her mouth, a flash of defiance in her eyes – and he might as well have been looking at Dawn instead of Buffy.

And it all just went to bloody hell from there.

Within moments, Buffy had beaten him, and he was running for cover, vulnerable to the sun's deadly rays once again. He had been furious at his own failure, and at the reason for that failure. He was a bloody master vampire! He wasn't supposed to be so soft that he'd lose to the Slayer because of some vague resemblance to a little girl he happened to be a bit fond of.

He had decided then and there that the next time they met, he was going to make Buffy pay for the wreck she had made of his unlife.

And then, he had been captured by the bleedin' Initiative – and now, none of that mattered anymore.

He did not know what Buffy had told her family about him during the short time in which he was a prisoner in the Watcher's house. All he knew was that the one time when Buffy had ended up bringing Dawn with her to Giles' apartment for a meeting, the girl had not been surprised to see him there.

She had, however, been furious with him.

He had not liked admitting to himself how deeply the icy glare she shot him stung. He knew he deserved the look of angry betrayal in her eyes, as they shot daggers at him across the living room, while the Scoobies uselessly rambled on about the commandos, about whom they knew next to nothing.

Dawn had had several opportunities to confide in him, and she had taken them; he knew that she was deeply hurt by what she saw as her father's abandonment, and she had told him enough that he fully intended to tear the bugger to pieces himself should they ever meet. He knew that at this point, he must appear to be just another man that she had come to trust and care about, who had then proceeded to leave her.

And that felt terrible.

Why should I bloody care? he had insisted to himself. She's nothing but a soddin' Happy Meal! Little chit's lucky her bleedin' throat's not – well – bleedin'!

But still, he had desperately tried to catch her eye throughout the whole meeting – and the bereft feeling he got when she pointedly avoided his gaze made any attempts at pretending not to care utterly useless.

Finally, when the group had moved into the kitchen, they had failed to notice for a few minutes that Dawn had stayed behind. She did not say anything to him for a long moment, as she came to stand in front of the chair he was bound to, glaring at him with righteous hurt and anger in her eyes.

Then, she had kicked him in the shin.

Not very hard, a token blow, really – but he looked up at her, startled – and then, ashamed, to see that she was biting her lip so hard that a moment later he could smell her blood. Her eyes were very wide as she fought to repress a woman's emotions, with a child's strength.

It was in that moment that Spike realized – little Dawnie had a great big crush.

"Where did you go?" she had demanded in a voice that was vulnerable and trembling with tears – and his heart had broken to hear the pain he had caused her.

He had done his best to explain what he had no excuse for, and she had accepted his profuse apologies with childlike innocence, easily forgiving him, impulsively embracing him, until he had reminded her that Buffy could not see her hugging him like that, could not know of their friendship, now more than ever.

He was certain that after all that had happened, his recent attempts to kill both her and Willow, Buffy would not take the news that he had been visiting her mother and sister in their home very well, even if it had been several weeks since the last time he had.

The meeting had ended with another useless round of questioning by Buffy and her Watcher, filled with threats of pain and stakeage that he now knew to be completely idle – though he had not known that at the time.

But none of it mattered at the moment – Dawn had forgiven him. And she would tell Joyce his vague, evasive explanation for his absence of the past few weeks, edited for the child's ears – and she would not believe a word of it.

But she would forgive him – and that would make everything all right again.

Now, he looked into that same innocent, searching gaze – and felt, for just a moment, that same feeling of reassurance and acceptance – that feeling that everything was going to be all right.

"Spike?" Dawn's voice was questioning as she glanced between him and her sister uncertainly, increasingly troubled by their silence, and by the tears that glistened in both of their eyes.

Spike's tears were of tremendous relief, the relief of looking into the face of someone, however powerless the teenager might be, who actually cared what happened to him. Buffy's tears were an expression of the terrible guilt that filled her over what she had done to Spike.

As she expectantly looked between them, Dawn knew none of this – and was growing steadily more apprehensive about the whole thing with every silent moment that passed.

"Isn't somebody gonna tell me what is going on here?"


	29. Chapter 29

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice was increasingly uncertain, bordering on actual fear, when neither of the two adults in the room seemed inclined to answer her questions. "What's going on? You guys are really starting to scare me."

Her deep searching eyes met Spike's – and he had to look away.

He wanted to ease her fears, to tell her that everything was all right – but he knew that she would see through that lie in an instant. He wanted to tell her everything – but knew that it was far too much for a girl her age to be expected to take in. And it was not as if she could actually do anything about it, anyway. And that was not even considering the reaction Buffy might have if he dared to reveal the secret to anyone else, especially her little sister.

But then – it was odd that Dawn's presence seemed to have brought a sudden halt to Buffy's out of control rage, instantly bringing her back to herself. It was possible that the simple fact that her little sister was present had been a call back to reality for the Slayer, who would certainly not want Dawnie to see the violence and disturbing darkness of her recent behavior.

Or – it was possible that it was something more.

"Spike?" Dawn pressed, calling him back to the current moment, and out of his pensive wonderings.

He opened his mouth to respond before remembering that he had absolutely no idea how – then closed it again, shaking his head and looking away.

After one more look between the two silent warriors, Dawn crossed her arms over her chest and let out a little huff of frustration. "Fine!" she snapped. "Don't tell me anything! Spike's hurt, and you're both obviously pretty freaked – but neither one of you can think of anything to say? Come on, I'm not a child, you know! Pardon me for caring!"

Spike wanted to stop her as she stalked toward the stairs, and not only because she seemed to be the stabilizing factor that was keeping Buffy from smacking the crap out of him at the moment. Dawn was his friend, and he hated to leave her thinking that he was deliberately shutting her out.

But as far as Buffy knew, they were virtual strangers, and it would not seem to be his place to call after her, to attempt to stop her angry retreat.

That was Buffy's place.

"Dawnie," she called weakly, not really wanting her sister to respond. Like Spike, she had absolutely no idea how to begin to explain what was going on. And to her relief, Dawn did not respond, just continued up the stairs. A moment later the sound of her bedroom door slamming was heard.

There was a heavy moment of silence between them, neither knowing what to say in the wake of the evening's events.

"Spike," Buffy finally said, in a hesitant, heavy voice.

"Don't," Spike cut her off, his voice low and trembling, his eyes still downcast, avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he clarified softly, "Don't say you're sorry, Buffy. If you say it every time, you'll be saying it for the rest of your life."

It was not the note of sarcasm, but the flat resignation in his voice that stung her. "No," she objected, moving cautiously toward him, stopping suddenly when he backed away from her, still without looking at her. Deliberately softening her voice, ignoring the guilty pang that struck her at his apprehensive actions, Buffy repeated firmly, "No. It's not going to always be like this. We're going to find a way to stop it…"

"Not if you keep lying to them, Buffy. Not if you – this – this other you – keeps trying to sabotage any source of help you might have," Spike protested, finally raising his eyes to meet hers, troubled and serious. "And that's what you did in there, tonight, Buffy. They wanted to help you, and you tried to sabotage it."

"I did not…"

"Yes, you bloody well did!" he snapped, his voice trembling with anger. "Anytime Anya or I tried to tell them anything useful, you tried to shut us up!"

"Well, excuse me if I don't want the whole world knowing about this!" Buffy shot back, her own eyes blazing with angry tears. "Forgive me if I don't feel like announcing to all my friends that I had sex with you – that I bit you! Excuse me if I don't feel like sharing how now I can't be around you for five seconds without wanting to just…"

Her words broke off abruptly, as her emotions overwhelmed her. She looked away, shaking her head, but not before he saw the clear look of shame in her eyes.

It was more than he could take. He wanted to tell her that if that was how she felt, if she was so bloody ashamed of him, of having any sort of desire or feelings for him, then he would just make her happy and leave. He could do without the threats and the beatings and the general all around misery that went along with her claim, if that was what she wanted!

But he couldn't.

Because in spite of it all – he simply could not bring himself to leave her.

"Look," Buffy said in a quiet voice of exhaustion. "I can't do this. I – I'm just going to go to bed. You can sleep on the couch – or wherever. I don't care, just make yourself comfortable. But I just can't deal with this right now. I'm so tired I can't even think straight…"

Yeah, 'cause you were up all bloody night shaggin' me senseless…

The words were spoken only in his head, but Buffy's explanation suddenly cut off, her mouth setting in a hard line of repressed anger. She turned suddenly and headed for the stairs without another word – and he was stunned at the desolate, bereft feeling that came over him with her unspoken dismissal.

He barely had time to register it before she was suddenly back, frighteningly close, pressing in close to him so that he quickly backpedaled into the door, his heart in his throat with fear at her unexpected nearness.

But he realized the next moment that this was still Buffy. She was still in control of herself, just deadly serious, as she reached a hand to press down on the mark on his throat, giving him that odd sensation he had felt a few times before that was not pleasure, not pain – simply a powerful pressure that demanded his attention to her.

"You will not leave this house," she ordered quietly, firmly, with unquestionable authority – but there was no threat in her words. "And you will not touch my sister. I am not possessed, I am not out of control at the moment, but I am telling you, if you even think of hurting Dawn, I will find the slowest possible method of staking, and I will use it on you. Is that clear?"

Okay – definite threat that time.

Her command had carried the weight of her claim, and he could not have disobeyed it if he had wanted to – but it hurt him that she thought he might want to.

Of course, reason dictated that she had no reason to think otherwise. She knew nothing of the secret friendship that he had carried on with her mother and sister over the past few months. All she knew that he was a dangerous, currently unchipped master vampire who had only a couple of weeks ago attempted to kill her and her best friend. For all she knew, the emphatic command she had just given him was the only thing keeping him from hurting the vulnerable little girl upstairs.

She had no way of knowing how far from the truth that really was, he reminded himself.

Still – it hurt.

"I wouldn't," he said quietly, his voice low and his eyes averted in a struggle not to show his emotions. "I would never…" His words trailed off, as he was unable to go on.

But Buffy understood – or thought she did. It made sense to her that if the claim made him care for her, it might extend to those dear to her, at least in so far as to keep him from attempting to harm them. But she was not going to gamble with Dawn's life, on that educated guess.

"Just making sure," she said with unusual gentleness, as she released him, regarding him with a solemn sadness for a moment before returning to the stairs, and disappearing up them. A moment later, he heard her bedroom door quietly shut.

Feeling sad, afraid, and utterly alone, Spike walked into the living room and sat down slowly on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He was trapped, completely and hopelessly. An eternal trap, from which there was no escape.

What the bleedin' hell am I going to do? he wondered with a sense of despair.

Suddenly, he felt a light, soft touch on his shoulder, and jumped, startled, wondering even as he looked up to see the person who had touched him, why he had not been aware of the girl's approach.

Careful, mate, he reprimanded himself grimly. No matter how bad things get, won't do to get that distracted.

Dawn sat down beside him, her eyes focused on his with a calm concern that made her seem far more mature than her fourteen years. "Okay," she said in a casual, matter-of-fact voice. "So how about you tell me what the heck is going on here?"

Automatically Spike's eyes turned toward the stairs where he had last seen Buffy, anxious and a bit hesitant.

"Don't worry," Dawn assured him with a knowing smile. "Her Bitchiness has gone to bed. Her door's locked and her radio's on, and I'm pretty sure she won't be coming out again tonight."

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her in surprise at her perception.

"Come on," she laughed softly. "I'm not stupid. You wanted to tell me before, didn't you? But she didn't want you to. Well, she's gone now, and I won't be telling her anything. So spill."

"Sorry, pet," he acknowledged the accuracy of her assessment with an apologetic little grimace. " 'S just that she's pretty serious about nobody knowing about this. If she were to find out…"

Dawn's eyes widened with stunned realization, quickly shifting to horror, as she took in his already nearly healed split lip, and the dark bruises that had faded some even since she had first seen them.

"Spike – did Buffy do that?" she asked in a hushed whisper of indignation and disbelief.

He looked away from her, suddenly uncomfortable. He shrugged too casually, as he replied evasively, "Not – not Buffy exactly…See, that's the thing, pet. Your sis has got a – a bit of a problem. She's not exactly herself lately. Not since – well – something happened, pet…"

"You two boinked each other," Dawn stated flatly, without a hint of surprise. "Right?"

Now it was Spike's turn to experience disbelieving horror. "Observant is one thing, but that's just bloody scary, Niblet…how did you…?"

"I was listening at the top of the stairs," she admitted readily without a trace of guilt. "So you two did it, and she liked it so much that now she wants it all the time – got that," she went on, oblivious to the increasing dismay of the vampire beside her. "I mean, if it was me…" Her voice broke off, her eyes widening slightly before she attempted to recover, "…if I'd just done it with…with someone I really liked…I'm sure I'd like it, and – and wanna do it some more, too…because, you know…"

"Dawn!" Spike finally found the strength to protest. When she gave him an expectant, questioning look, he went on in a slightly shaken voice, "If I'm going to tell you this – it's gonna be on one bloody condition, and that's that you never talk about that sort of thing with me again!"

"Okay," Dawn agreed with a shrug, more than happy to change the subject.

"Unless of course you're actually considering it with some bloke – in which case I want to hear all about it including the little prat's name and address so I can break his bloody willy clean off before it has a chance to touch you!" Spike amended darkly.

"Whatever," Dawn rolled her eyes at his overprotective ramblings, though they secretly warmed her in a way she could not quite put into words. "We're not talking about me. We're talking about my sister, and why I'm gonna have to beat the crap out of her for beating the crap out of you. Why did she, anyway?"

"See, that's the thing, pet," Spike went on softly. "She's – she's not quite herself when she does – when she did it."

"There's been more than once?" Dawn's voice darkened, her eyes narrowing with anger.

"There's something," Spike went on, ignoring the comment deliberately. "that's been taking her over – making her do things that are beyond her control. And it's only since…"

"You two made like bunnies," Dawn finished for him.

He nodded grimly.

"There's one thing I don't get, though," Dawn frowned thoughtfully. "Buffy said she – she bit you?"

Spike took a deep breath. This bit was going to be a little harder to explain. But he did his best to tell Dawn what they knew about the ritual and the claim, which really wasn't a lot, as there was clearly more to it than they knew.

Dawn was furious when he finished. "This is all Buffy's fault," she fumed. "I can't believe she had the nerve to think she was just going to control you like that! If she hadn't tried that whole control spell thingy in the first place, none of it would have happened!"

Spike did not respond, silently acknowledging that she was right.

"So – she's just gonna have these psychotic episodes or whatever, until we can figure out what went wrong with the ritual?" Dawn guessed with a little grimace of displeasure at the idea. When Spike nodded glumly, she added in dismay, "That could take forever."

"But," Spike remembered, his eyes widening as he looked up at her. "There's something – whenever we came in here, and she heard your voice – knew you were here – something changed, Bit." There was a note of hopeful excitement in his voice as he recalled it. "Something about – about you being there – seemed to make her – come back. Made this other – thing – retreat, somehow."

"Me?" Dawn's eyebrows raised dubiously. "I scared off this weird demon thingy?"

"I don't know if 'scared' is the right word," Spike gave an uncertain little half-shrug. "It was just sort of like – your being there put Buffy – back in control of herself." He paused, and they were both silent, thinking it over. "It's something to tell the Watcher," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe it'll make a difference. If I'm actually allowed to open my bloody mouth next time I see them again."

He frowned, remembering Buffy's command not to leave the house, that she had just given him – hoping it was just for that night. "If I bloody see them again."

Dawn's eyes widened with alarm at that suggestion. "Of course you will," she assured him. "We're gonna figure this out. And if something about me keeps Buffy from hurting you," she shrugged easily. "I'll just have to stay around so that you're not alone with her."

He laughed softly, a dark, unpleasant sound to it that worried her. "That's gonna be a bit easier said than done, pet," he warned her with a sad smile. "The very nature of this claim makes her want – well, to be alone with me – quite a bit, Niblet."

"Well, Miss High-and-Mighty Big Bad Slayer's gonna have to learn that she can't always get what she…"

"Shh!" Spike suddenly hushed her, one hand upraised, his eyes fastened on the top of the stairs, listening for the soft sound he had just heard – of a door opening and closing. Then, they both heard soft footsteps from upstairs, padding toward the stairs.

On the edge of panic, Spike hissed, "Go!" to Dawn, gesturing toward the kitchen.

"But…" she whispered back, shaking her head.

"She's gonna know I told you if she sees you here, Bit," he hurriedly informed her in a whisper. "And she's gonna be bloody well pissed off with me for it…"

"But maybe I can…"

"I'm not taking the chance with you're safety, Bit," he insisted firmly. "She went after Xander, and Anya – I don't want her deciding she should be jealous of you -- now go!"

Reluctantly, Dawn slipped off the couch and into the kitchen, closing the door behind her, as Buffy's footsteps started down the stairs.

He looked up at her uncertainly from the couch, swallowing back a hard lump of fear in his throat, not having the faintest idea what to expect from her at this point. Buffy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, just looking at him with a calm, sort of sad look on her face. She slowly approached him, reaching down a hand to gently touch his face, the sadness in her eyes deepening when he flinched away.

He tensed, his eyes focused on the floor, preparing for the fury he was sure he would experience for his small defiance – it seemed to take less and less to anger her all the time.

He was startled to find her suddenly kneeling in front of him, between his slightly parted legs, bringing herself to eye level with him. He stared at her, wide eyes searching, trying to understand what she was doing. Her eyes were uncharacteristically gentle, holding his gaze as she leaned in to softly, tenderly kiss his bruised mouth, her hand rising to the back of his neck to pull him in closer.

As the kiss deepened, he felt his hunger for her growing in spite of his determination to suppress it, and he slid his arms around her, remembering a moment later that he was not supposed to.

But there was no reproof, as she slid her arm around his waist, tenderly caressing her mark on his throat with her other hand – and this time, the touch told him in a way that her words could not, how truly sorry she was, how much she regretted hurting him.

Finally, she pulled back from the kiss, breathless and gasping, resting her forehead against his for a moment as she caught her breath.

"Spike," she whispered finally, a desperation in her voice. "Come upstairs with me. I – I want you – please come upstairs with me…"

There were so many reasons why he should have said no – but he was afraid to, afraid of shattering this tender, beautiful moment that had come out of nowhere – and the truth was…

He didn't want to say no.

Silently he nodded, and let her take his hand as she rose to her feet, let her lead him up the stairs to her bedroom.

In the kitchen, the teenage girl listened to the quiet exchange, not seeing, but aware of what was going on. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she made a quick decision and headed for the phone, dialing a number she knew by heart.

She waited through several rings until a very familiar voice picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mommy?" Dawn said in a small, hushed voice, suddenly feeling about five years old again. "Um – I really think you need to come home."


	30. Chapter 30

Buffy's small hand was warm and soft in Spike's, as she led him silently up the stairs to her bedroom. There was no hint now of the hardness, the cruelty, she had shown him before, as she sat him down on the side of her bed, solemn emerald eyes taking in the bruises, the blood dried around his mouth – evidence of the brutal beating she had dealt him in the alley – with a sense of deep sorrow.

She left the room for a moment, coming back with a soft, warm cloth, which she used to gently wipe the blood from his face. She was being so tender, so caring and compassionate with him, that he could hardly believe this was even the same girl that had threatened and abused him earlier in the evening.

And in a way – it was not. He knew by the look in her eyes, and the absence of the oppressive presence that he felt whenever Buffy went into one of the frightening spells that had begun since the claiming, that this was purely, simply Buffy – without the possessive, violent force that controlled her so often lately. This was just Buffy, the same girl he had known for the past two years.

And she wanted him.

He did not know what to think, how to react to the sudden shift in her behavior. He was relieved, and filled with a sense of warmth and comfort by her gentle, affectionate manner – but he was afraid to trust it. He knew it was only a matter of time before she returned to the same demanding, possessive behavior that seemed to have taken her over since the claiming.

Still, he could not make himself turn her away. He wanted her – desperately.

All traces of the blood she had spilt washed away, she laid the damp, stained cloth down on the nightstand beside her bed, moving in close to him, standing between his legs, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the other rising to caress his cheek.

He looked up at her with open, searching eyes, uncertain and vulnerable with the confusion of emotions and apprehensive thoughts that filled him in that moment. The warm, silken touch of her hand, feather light over his swollen cheek, felt so amazing – so reassuring, and – and right…

And yet, he knew that it was so wrong.

"Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head slightly. "Buffy – we shouldn't – I mean – I don't want to…"

"Shhh," she whispered, leaning down and bringing her other hand up to his other cheek, tipping his face up and lowering his mouth to cover his in a slow, sensuous kiss that nearly drove all his misgivings away. As their lips parted, she met his eyes with a smoldering look of intense desire, over a gently knowing smile. "Of course you want to."

Bloody hell, but she's right, he realized with a sense of blissful despair. I'm lost to her…and I want to be…

Her hands slid down from his face to his chest, slender fingers working the buttons of his shirt, sliding the fabric back off his shoulders and to the bed. He kept his eyes focused on her face, but could feel his desire heightened as her eyes traveled slowly over his pale torso. A look of dismay and regret came into her eyes when they feel on the purple bruising that discolored the ivory flesh of his stomach.

Tenderly, her hands continued their downward path, caressing lightly over the injured area. He tensed slightly in anticipation of pain that did not come. One of the Slayer's smooth, warm hands slid around to his back, the other rising to lightly hold the back of his head as she kissed him again, slowly, intently, taking her time to explore his mouth with her tongue, her lips.

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation, savoring her taste, his hands slipping up to her hips. Suddenly, they dropped out from under his hands, and he felt a slight pressure on the back of his neck, her lips pulled from his for just a moment. He opened his eyes, a question unformed on his lips, to see that the Slayer was kneeling in front of him, in the same pose she had taken in the living room a few minutes earlier.

His lips parted to voice the question in his mind – but were immediately invaded by the Slayer's tender kiss, as she drew him in again, her hands running up and down his back, sliding gently around his sides to his stomach, as she broke the kiss, pulling back and looking into his eyes with a sad, affectionate smile. He could see the regret, the sorrow there, that he had asked her not to express.

As if reading his mind – which, actually, she may have been -- she murmured softly, "You don't want me to say it? Fine. I'll prove it. For tonight, Spike – for tonight – I'm yours. I owe you that much."

And she left him to take in those stunning words, as she leaned back on her knees, lowering her mouth to tenderly caress the smooth alabaster skin of his chest, gliding slowly downward to lave the tender, bruised flesh of his stomach with the soothing, moist heat of her mouth, her hands at his waist pulling him in nearer to her.

He let out a soft moan at the achingly pleasurable sensation of her heat against his cool, sore flesh, and his hands lowered, one to rest on her shoulder, the other instinctively behind her head, instinctively gripping her hair and guiding her head gently downward. Neither was aware that it was subconsciously a possessive gesture – a gesture that should have had Buffy's primal, controlling side screaming to the surface in a rage.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Buffy – just Buffy – relished the firm comfort of his touch on her head, a relief, a silent statement that she did not have to be in control. As her mouth dipped lower, her tongue sliding teasingly around and into his navel before lowering again, he gasped softly at the unexpected contact with the sensitive, rarely touched area.

"Buffy – oh, God, Buffy…" he whispered, leaning back as her hands gently pressed on his abdomen to push him back on the bed so that he was lying down, with his knees hanging over the side of the bed, before moving to unfasten the button on his jeans, her mouth still edging lower.

He knew that he should have stopped her. As awkward and embarrassing a conversation as it would be, he knew that he had to talk to her about what had happened that night – now, while she was reasonably rational, not controlled by the dangerous force that might take her over again at any moment.

Reason told him that they had to find a way to sort this out – a way to determine what things that they were doing were a normal result of the claim, and what parts were a result of whatever had gone wrong with the ritual – and what, if any, was due to something else entirely. Perhaps – just maybe – their own personal feelings might have something to do with this.

But as long as his thoughts were lost, swept away by the feeling of her touch, there would be no figuring out the situation. They would both just continue swirling deeper into confusion.

And what sort of a message was he sending her, what was he telling her about the abusive behavior that was becoming more and more frequent, if he could give himself to her like this so easily, when less than an hour before she had been viciously beating him in an alley, bruising and breaking the flesh she was so tenderly caressing now?

Then, he felt her hands at the waistband of his jeans, gently tugging downward, and his mental objections seemed to fade with the anticipation, the desperate need for what she seemed to be offering. He raised his hips slightly, the weight of his body braced on his arms on the bed, as she slid the garment down off his hips, allowing it to lie in a tangled heap about his ankles.

His burgeoning erection exposed to the cool air of the room thrust upward toward her, seeking the warmth of her touch, but she did not touch him – not for a few moments. He raised his head with a soft pleading whimper, "Buffy…" aching for her touch – and felt his arousal deepen at the sight that met his eyes.

She was kneeling there between his legs, her arms slack at her sides, staring at the swollen evidence of his need for her with a smoldering look of desire in her eyes. Her lips were full and dark, and as he watched, she slowly ran her tongue across them in an unconscious gesture of need that left them glistening with moisture.

When her darkened eyes suddenly rose to meet his, hooded and hazy with her arousal, he felt his own desire deepening for her, and released a groan as her hands came to rest high on his thighs, gently spreading them further apart as she moved in closer.

"Buffy," he groaned softly. "God, Buffy – please – need you, love…"

It was very clear what she was about to do, but it stunned him to think of it. According to the general rules of vampire relationships, such an act was generally considered to be very submissive, and as Buffy was clearly the dominant party in this pairing, he was surprised that she would even consider it.

But he was very, very glad that she was.

When she rose slowly from her knees, leaving him leaned backward over the bed, he felt a nearly overwhelming sense of disappointment. He wanted her, needed her, so badly, and to have her make such an offer – and then pull it away…

Conscious thought left him as the coarse fabric of her clothing rubbed across his sensitive erection, as she leaned up over him, catching his wrists in her hands and crossing them carefully over his head. The look in her eyes was affectionate and reassuring, as she met his uncertain gaze, fearful at being positioned in such a vulnerable way.

She kissed his lips, slowly, tenderly, with an intimacy that promised so much more to come, before pulling away to look him directly in the eye. "Don't…move…" she ordered very softly, without menace or demand, a teasing sparkle in her eyes. Her hands trailed slowly down his raised arms, down his sides, to rest at his hips for a moment as she rose off of him.

"Just let me make you feel so good, Baby," she whispered, her forefinger and thumb tracing the arc of his hips, her thumbs sliding slowly inward and pressing gently down into the sensitive flesh just above his groin.

He moaned softly, arching upward toward her, but obediently trying his best not to move, as her thumbs began a slow, circular pressure on the rarely touched erogenous zone of his sensitive inner thighs, simultaneously pressing his legs further apart and heightening the sense of vulnerability, and sensitivity, for his fully erect, but so far ignored member.

"Buffy," he whispered desperately. "Please, Buffy…"

"You don't have to beg me," she said softly, and though his head was resting on the bed and his eyes were closed, he knew how near her mouth was to his desperate, aching member, by the warm brush of her breath against the sensitive skin. "I've hurt you and used you and taken what I wanted from you without caring about what it did to you – but tonight – all I want – is to give you pleasure, Spike."

The very words, spoken in that warm, throaty voice of honest sincerity, made him groan with pleasure, feeling his erection harden further -- and he wondered how such a feat was even possible, considering the power of his longing for her already.

And in the next moment, he was no longer capable of wondering at all, as he felt the soft, wet heat of her tongue, sliding slowly around the tip of his erection, sending a surge of hot pleasure from the point of contact up through his entire body.

"Buffy – God -- Buffy…" he gasped, arching up on the bed, thrusting instinctively toward her, needing to be more completely inside the inviting warmth of her mouth.

But she pulled back immediately, her hands resting lightly on his thighs and looking down at him with a tolerant smile. "Uh-uh-uh," she gently reproved him, shaking her head as he looked up at her through desperate, pleading eyes of sapphire blue. "Don't move, Spike. Just let me do this…"

"God, Buffy," he groaned, leaning his head back against the mattress, gasping for breath. "Buffy, I don't – I don't know if I – I – can't…"

Perfectly understanding his barely coherent words, Buffy smiled. "Of course you can," she murmured softly. Then, she placed one soft but powerful arm high across his thighs, pinning him down with a gentle strength, as her free hand rose to lightly trace down the length of his aching shaft, finishing with a torturously tantalizing circle around its tip.

He bucked instinctively up toward her hand, but could not actually rise up from the bed, restrained by her powerful arm – and the total loss of control, when it was in a situation of safety – and for some strange reason, at this moment, he felt completely safe – only served to heighten his arousal.

She removed her hand, her fingers tracing with an almost tickling lightness up and down the silky sensitive skin of his inner thigh, as her mouth descended over the tip of his erection, taking it into the searing heat of her mouth, and causing him to moan at the sensation and buck up against her again – uselessly – held motionless by her restraining arm.

He felt her lips form a smile around him, and it only increased his desire, as he groaned out her name, "Buffy…God…sweet Buffy…yours, Buffy…I'm yours…"

The words were rewarded as she took him deeper into her mouth, her tongue swirling slow circles around him, edging him ever nearer to the peak of his desire. She surprised him with a light, playful nip that made him nearly come right then and there at the unexpected pleasure/pain sensation.

"Buffy," he whimpered. "Yes…yes, Buffy…"

He longed to lower his arms, to fist a hand in her hair and urge her to take him deeper, to touch her while she did this for him – but he dared not move from the position she had required him to assume. And the utter lack of control, the complete submission to her, while frightening and unsettling, was also exciting and arousing.

She ceased all motion for an instant, and he looked up with anguished eyes into her own wide, serious gaze.

Shhh… she reminded him in his mind, as her mouth was a bit preoccupied at the moment. Impressionable young ears in the house… Although he knew she meant it, her eyes were sparkling with mischievous mirth, as if the idea of possibly being caught only made the whole thing that much more exciting.

And the truth was, it did.

Of course Buffy did not know that Dawn already knew the nature of their relationship, and even had she known, it still would not have been appropriate to allow the teenager to overhear their uncontrolled screams and cries of passion. Spike obediently stifled the cries of pleasure that rose to his lips.

With a few more minutes of expert attention, drawing him suddenly completely into her mouth and swallowing hard, Buffy exerted that last little bit of pressure that was needed to bring him to completion. He came hard, down her throat, biting down hard on his lower lip to stifle a scream of intense pleasure, his crossed hands fisted in the bedspread above his head as he struggled to fulfill her demands of silent stillness.

His body shuddering in the wake of the powerful orgasm that had consumed him, he hardly noticed when gentle hands drew his away from their grip on her quilt, pulling him with her to lie lengthwise on the bed, his arms gently around her, and her own arm wrapped around his neck, her hand playing soothingly through his disheveled blonde curls, her other arm cast comfortably across his stomach.

She gazed at him with a calm smile of satisfaction, studying his flawless features, altered with the emotion of his pleasure and passion for her, with a sense of awe and pride.

He was hers.

As the power of the moment passed, he finally opened his eyes to meet her gaze, staring up at her with a stunned, overwhelmed expression.

"God – Buffy – that was – my God, Buffy, you were – amazing," he whispered breathlessly.

She just smiled down at him, a rare tenderness in her eyes – and that tenderness prompted a question, though he could scarcely put it into words.

"Buffy," he whispered, shaking his head slightly, glancing down before looking back up at her again. "Why…?"

She was silent for a long moment, and her smile faded slightly, her eyes growing serious. She shifted slightly, becoming more comfortable, her hand playing through his hair lowering to lightly caress his face.

"Because," she replied finally, in a soft, hesitant voice. "Because I wanted – I wanted to. I wanted you. No…" She frowned, struggling to find the right words. "Spike – I wanted to make you happy. It's like I said – all I've done since this whole thing started is – is make things harder on you, and – and I wanted to make you feel good."

He smiled, a soft, ironic smirk, as he met her gaze. "You did that, love," he assured her.

She glanced down, a bit abashed, again reassuring him that this was the real, true Buffy, and not her evil alter-ego. There was nothing of the brash, dominating sexual confidence that marked that other Buffy – this was the same insecure, inexperienced girl whose confidence had been so broken by Angel and Parker.

"I did?" she whispered, uncertainly.

"Yes," he whispered. "You did." As he spoke, he raised a hand to tenderly push back a loose tendril of damp blonde hair from her face.

She smiled softly at the contact, leaning slightly into his touch for just a moment, before her smile faded slightly, and she met his eyes again, her own troubled. "I just – I wish I hadn't done it, Spike."

He felt his heart drop with a feeling of panic, of desolation. "What?" he forced himself to ask in a low whisper. "You wish you hadn't done – what?"

"The claim," she whispered, confirming his fears. When she saw the look on his face, she quickly amended, "I mean – not like that. Not – for that reason. Spike – I've been attracted to you. You know that. Ever since…"

A sense of cautious relief came over him with her explanation of her words. "Red's spell?" he guessed, knowing that for him, it had been much longer.

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. I think that must have been it. So – so I know I felt something for you – even back then – but – but then came this whole claiming thing, and – and I just wish I knew…" She stopped, shaking her head, unable to find the right words.

Spike knew; he was struggling with the same question.

"Which feelings came from where?" he suggested softly.

Buffy studied his expression for a long moment. "Yeah," she agreed with a slow nod. "Exactly."

They were both silent for a long moment, lying there, lost in their thoughts.

Finally, he spoke in a soft, vulnerable voice. "Does it matter?"

She frowned, her own voice hushed in the late stillness that was falling over the room. "What do you mean?"

Slowly, he clarified, in a carefully controlled voice, trying not to give too much away, "If you feel them – the emotions – does it matter where they came from?"

Yes, she thought automatically, feeling troubled by the suggestion. Of course it mattered, whether what she was feeling for Spike was her own true feelings that might have developed on their own, or something artificial, manufactured by the claim she had made.

And yet – she knew by the vulnerability in his voice that he was trying so hard to conceal, that was not the answer he needed at the moment. But she could not outright lie to him, because she knew that she was going to have to find the answer, sooner or later.

"I don't know," she said softly, her fingers tenderly caressing the fine lines of his face again, enjoying once again the comforting thought that no matter what, he was hers. "I – I just don't know what it all means, Spike. I don't know why I feel this way. I don't know why I've been having those weird spells. I don't understand any of it."

"Well," he suggested in a hushed voice, barely over a whisper. "Perhaps it's best to start with what you do understand." He leaned up slowly on his elbow to look her in the eye again, his expression solemn and utterly sincere. "I'm yours, Buffy. Out of this whole bloody complicated mess, that's the one face we know for sure. You claimed me, and I'm yours."

She stared at him, in the dim light of the room, he could see her eyes well with tears, her lower lip trembling as she opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating, before she finally asked in a whisper, "Do – do you want to be?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "Bloody hell, Buffy, yes!"

She studied his eyes for a long moment, biting her lower lip anxiously, until she seemed satisfied of the truth in his eyes, and nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered.

With her hand around his head, caressing his face, she gently pulled his head back down onto the pillow beside her, kissing him tenderly, and he could taste the salt of her cooling tears on her lips. Their lips finally parted, both exhausted beyond measure by the tumult of the day, as they felt themselves drifting off to sleep.

There was so much to figure out. So many problems arisen from the foolish actions she had taken. But together, they clung to the one truth they knew for certain out of the whole thing – and for that one night – it was enough.


	31. Chapter 31

It was late morning when Spike awakened to the dim glow of sunlight seeping through the closely drawn curtains on Buffy's bedroom window. He opened his eyes slowly, and they fell immediately on the peaceful face of his slumbering Slayer.

The momentary apprehension he felt as his mind raced back over the trauma of the previous day melted away as he took in the stunning stillness of her beauty, her smooth brow free of the tension that had marked it so frequently these past few days, her slow even breaths gently rustling a few stray blonde hairs that fell down over her eyes.

He thought back over the unexpected tender moments of the night before, drinking in the peaceful, contented expression on her face – and wondering how long he would have to enjoy it this time.

His sensitive hearing picked up the quiet sounds of Dawn moving about downstairs, and he suddenly remembered their unfinished conversation of the night before. He had yet to ask Buffy how much she wanted Dawn to know, but he was certain that what he had told her was already too much. At the very least, they had to work out a game plan of how to conduct themselves around Buffy, considering the secret but very close friendship that she did not know that they shared.

Very, very slowly, he slid out from between the warm, soft arms of the Slayer, not wanting to awaken her – unsure which "Buffy" he would be awakening if he did. She did not stir, as he got to his feet and reached for his clothes, where they had been discarded by her on the floor the night before – the same clothes he had worn for three days now, he realized with disgust.

He thought absently that he would have to return to the mansion at some point to get the rest of his clothes, and bring them – here?

He frowned in pensive wondering. Was the Slayer intending for him to stay here now? He had a feeling that if she knew the whole story, Joyce would not mind – but he was certain that Buffy had no intention of telling her anywhere near the whole story, and how did she plan to explain to her mother why a vampire she had openly and vocally hated for years was suddenly moving into the house with them? And wasn't Buffy living in a dorm room with Willow at the moment anyway?

He had a feeling that all of these questions would soon be answered – and there were going to be a lot of changes.

He made his way quietly down the stairs to the kitchen, where Dawn stood at the counter with her back to him, pouring herself a bowl of cereal. He noticed as he casually approached her that her hands were trembling, sending little dribbles of milk over the sides of the bowl. He felt a pang of guilt, realizing that his going upstairs with Buffy, after the conversation they had just had regarding her recent behavior, must have given the girl a bit of a scare.

"Morning, pet," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

But he did startle her, and she jumped with a little shriek, dropping the bowl to the floor with a shatter and a splash, sending Fruity Pebbles and milk flying through the kitchen, as she whirled around to face him with wide, fearful eyes.

"God, Spike, could you not do that whole scary silent vampire thing?" she gasped in genuine annoyance.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered under his breath, glancing anxiously up the stairs as he crouched down to begin picking up the shattered pieces of glass from the floor. "Sorry, bit," he added with an apologetic grimace. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Dawn was leaning back against the counter, catching her breath. "It's okay," she gasped out in relief, as she retrieved a dish cloth from beside the sink and began mopping up the mess on the floor, walls, counter – pretty much everywhere. "You just – just startled me. I mean…" As she went on, her eyes were carefully focused on the floor that she was half-heartedly wiping at. "I guess – after last night – I just…"

As she spoke, Spike quickly discarded the shards of broken glass he was carefully holding in his hand, returning to her in time to cut off her words by putting his arms around her gently. "It's all right, Nibblet," he murmured, holding her close to him. "She didn't hurt me, pet. She didn't."

She suddenly pushed him back, the sopping dishcloth in her hand leaving a darker mark on his black shirt, as she fixed him with a fierce, blazing look that seemed to see right through him – a Joyce-look if he had ever seen one.

"Say that again," she ordered calmly, but leaving no room for argument, her eyes focused searchingly on his.

He was suddenly very glad that he was telling the truth, knowing that had he been lying, she would have seen through it in an instant. Slowly and emphatically, holding her gaze unflinchingly he repeated, "She didn't hurt me."

She stared at him for a moment longer, and he could see the satisfaction and relief in her eyes when she decided that she believed him – but something was still clearly bothering her. Without a word she turned and finished wiping up the spilt milk and cereal, tossing the sopping dishcloth carelessly in the sink before sitting down at the counter with a sort of dejected air.

"So what's up, pet?" he asked plainly, taking the seat beside her, crossing his arms on the counter in front of him and looking at her sideways, trying to read her expression.

He had long since known that Dawn had a bit of a crush on him – well, more than a bit, actually – and realized with a pang of guilt that if she had any inkling of what had gone on the night before in Buffy's room, that might be what was responsible for her mood now. And the girl was not stupid; she had to know.

But this seemed to be about more than that.

"Come on, now, Niblet," he pressed her gently. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again, and he could see something in her close off as she decided not to ask her question – but then changed her mind again. Finally, she replied in a low, reluctant voice, "I just don't get it."

Spike could not help but laugh, though he knew the reaction was probably not helpful to the situation. When Dawn glared at him reproachfully, he stopped laughing, his smile warm and apologetic as he explained, "I don't either, pet. I'm so bloody confused at this point I don't even know what it is I'm supposed to be getting that I don't get."

That at least earned him a weak smile.

After a pause, he sighed softly, "Could you just be a bit more specific, pet?"

Dawn frowned thoughtfully. "Well – here's the thing. You came in here last night looking like shit…"

"Language…"

Bloody hell, I've become soddin' Joyce Summers in her absence!

"Crap," Dawn amended without missing a beat, her tone agitated and building up steam as she went along. "And said that Buffy did it. Okay, she's not herself, she's possessed or something, so we don't hate Buffy. I do. We don't. Just so that's clear."

Spike suppressed a grin that he knew would only provoke her further in this mood, nodding seriously.

"But the point was," Dawn continued, meeting his eyes questioningly. "You were scared of her."

When Spike opened his mouth to indignantly protest, she held up a hand to silence him, going on, "And don't give me that 'I wasn't the least bit bloody scared, I'm the Big Bad,' bull crap. You were scared. It doesn't make you any less of a man so let it go."

Her quick, matter-of-face words left no opportunity for argument, and he closed his mouth again as she went on, "But then, next thing I know, you're upstairs in her bed, getting it on, letting her pretend that everything's just fine!"

Astonished and horrified at the girl's seemingly impossible knowledge, Spike stared at her in shock. "How could you…?" he began.

She waved a hand dismissively at the details as she interrupted to answer, "Next door bedroom – thin walls – very not stupid teenager – you do the math. I did."

"Anyway, that's not the point!" she insisted, stopping suddenly to draw in a deep breath she had not paused long enough to take, and now desperately needed. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, calmer – sadder.

"Why are you letting her do that?"

"I told you, pet," he reminded her quietly, feeling suddenly very tired – and somehow, ashamed. "It's not like I can help it. It's the bloody claim. I've gotta do what she says, whether I want to or -- what?" He stopped, frowning at the look on her face. "Bit, what?"

Dawn's eyes were wide with horrified shock. "You…" she whispered, aghast. "You – didn't want to, and she – she…"

"No!" he quickly objected, horrified by the suggestion – though the very real fact that if Buffy took a notion to do such a thing, she could, made him feel a strange sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "God, no," he went on, softer. "I wanted to, pet. I did. Not – not that it's anything I ought to be discussing with you. Your mom would be looking for that axe again if she knew."

Dawn ignored that, frowning, deep in thought.

"But – if you only wanted it because of the claim – then – isn't it still…?" Her voice trailed off, as she saw the oddly guilty, trapped expression on his face – and read it perfectly.

"Except," she concluded softly, "It's not all just because of the claim. Is it? You really like her." Her words were slow, flat with the effort not to reveal the truth that he already knew, of how badly it hurt her to know it.

Spike looked at her intently for a moment, trying to decide how to respond – before deciding that regardless, Dawn was his friend – and only the truth would do. The truth might hurt her, and her girlish feelings – but not as badly as a lie would hurt her.

"Like her?" he repeated with a soft, bitter laugh at the childish term that did not begin to describe his obsession with the Slayer, even before the claim. "There's times when I hate her, Bit. But – but I've always – wanted her. Cared for her. Since – well, since long before this bloody chip."

Dawn was silent, forcing herself to take it in without displaying too much of her emotions.

It was one of life's cruelest tricks, played on many a teenage girl, that the one she idolized, adored and dreamed of, should have just such a fascination with her older sister – who happened to treat him like nothing more than dirt on the bottom of her shoe.

I should write a teen novel, Dawn thought cynically. Everyone would love to read about the disaster that is my hopeless, non-existent love life.

She suddenly decided that the best thing at this point in the conversation was to change the subject.

"So – yeah," she said aloud. "About that 'bloody chip'! What's up with that, anyway?"

Spike shrugged easily, relieved as she was to change the subject. "Bloody well buggered if I know," he replied, shaking his head.

"Do you think it stopped working when she claimed you?" Dawn speculated, getting up and getting the cereal from the counter. "Want some?" she asked as she opened the cupboard.

"Sure, pet," he replied distractedly, before answering her original question. "And I really couldn't tell you, come to think of it." He frowned, remembering. "The chip was already turned off by the time we ever got to that. See, in order for the dominance ritual to work, I had to be able to fight her – so – they knocked out the chip before the whole thing ever started."

Dawn raised her eyebrows in another expression a la Joyce Summers – God, how Spike wished she was there! – as she sat down at the table, setting down two bowls of cereal as she did. "How did they manage that?" she asked skeptically.

Spike took a bit of his cereal before replying with another shrug, "One of Red's spells. She managed to turn off the chip temporarily for the fight…" His eyes widened with realization, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly, thinking.

"Or not so temporarily," Dawn finished dryly. "Trust a Willow-spell to go majorly wonky."

"Do you think that's got something to do with what's happening to Buffy?" he asked, eyes wide as he thought about it.

Dawn shrugged, her eyes focused on her bowl as she took another bite. "It sure sounds like it might. I mean, come on. When has Willow ever down a spell that went totally right? They ought to just keep her away from magic, permanently."

"That could very well be it," Spike nodded, getting excited about the prospect of finding a solution to the problem at last. "If it's something in the spell she did, then – then we can get her to undo it – and Buffy could get back to normal. Get rid of whatever that – that thing is that's controlling her." There was a bitter anger in his voice, not directed at Buffy, exactly – but at whatever unknown force was causing her to hurt him.

Dawn nodded. "Sounds good. Let's talk to Buffy when she wakes up – assuming she's sane," she amended as she stood up, taking the empty bowls and spoons to the sink. "And take it to Giles. Maybe he can help figure it out."

Spike nodded slowly, staring at the table, deep in thought, as Dawn gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze, before going around him toward the stairs to go get dressed. He did not even notice when she left the room, still staring down, his mind racing with the new possibilities opened up by Dawn's suggestions.

Bloody magic, she thought, shaking his head in disgust. Best left alone by soddin' children who don't know what the bloody hell they're doing.

"Consequences," he murmured aloud with a weary sigh. "Always consequences."

"To what?"

The soft, husky voice behind him sent a chill down his spine, as he immediately recognized the dangerous note of anger to it. She had managed to get unsettlingly near, directly behind him, before he even knew she was there. Instinctively, he moved to get to his feet, to turn and face her.

Before he could, however, a strong hand on his shoulder shoved him back down into his seat, her arm snaking around his shoulders and pinning him there as she crouched behind him, her other hand clamping tightly over his mouth to prevent his calling out for Dawn.

Not that he would have. He wanted Dawn as far as possible from this deranged, dangerous girl.

"Consequences to what?" she whispered, her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her malicious smile against his cool skin. "Talking about me behind my back? Plotting against me?" The menace in her voice was terrifying, though he knew that he was innocent of her accusations.

Buffy, he whispered in his mind. Buffy, please – I wasn't…

He could not hold back a small, muffled cry of pain as she jerked his head to the side, pulling at the wound on his throat as she exposed it to her. "Don't lie to me," she ordered in a cold whisper. "I heard you, Baby. I heard you talking to her about getting rid of me!" she practically spat the words out with hatred in her voice.

A cold chill went down his spine with the realization that this was not even Buffy that was speaking to him. This was something that had not happened before, even in all the strangeness of the past few days.

It was her voice, her mouth, but the entity that was controlling her was addressing him directly.

"You can't get rid of me!" she sneered. "Not without killing her! And we both know you don't want that!"

Who are you? Spike demanded, his anger rising with the realization that some thing, some outside force, was controlling and even threatening his Slayer.

She leaned her head around to give him a falsely sweet, wide-eyed smile. "You know who I am," she smirked. "I'm Buffy." Her expression became very serious as she added, "You're starting to scare me, Sweetie. You're talking crazy. Better be careful about that."

The phony smile faded and she leaned in close to his ear again to snarl softly, " 'Cause you wanna make this my word against yours – you know who's gonna win!"

He knew she was right. If it came right down to it, almost anyone he tried to tell about this would not believe a word of it if Buffy denied it. True, her friends had witnessed some odd behavior, were convinced that she was in trouble – but they had not been convinced enough of the danger he was in to actually take any measures to protect him.

Or perhaps, they just had not cared.

"That's right, Spike," she said softly in response to the thoughts he had not known she was listening to. "You hit the nail on the head right there. They. Don't. Care."

Dawn.

Her name flashed into his mind unbidden, a reminder that at least someone did care – even if that someone was not really able to do much to help him. And in the next instant, a flash of fear, as he wondered if Buffy had read that thought – and what, in her possessive rage, she might feel compelled to do about it.

His fears were not unfounded.

A low feral growl rose in Buffy's throat, and suddenly, her hand on his shoulder rose to viciously dig her fingernails into the sensitive flesh of her mark, mercilessly punishing his daring to even think of relying on the affections of someone besides her.

His helpless cry of pain was stifled by her hand still over his mouth, and he was oddly grateful for it. He did not want Dawn to hear it, did not want her to come to his aide, only to get hurt herself.

"You know," she sneered close to his ear, smiling maliciously again. "It doesn't matter if she comes down here or not. I can find her. If I wanted to hurt her, I could. And there'd be nothing you could do to stop me."

Fury rose up in him, and he struggled against her restraining arm – until she viciously assaulted the mark again, and his body went rigid under her grasp, then still, trembling with pain that coursed through him.

"Don't worry, Sweetie," she whispered, her hand rising to caress his hair in a mockery of tenderness. "She doesn't matter to me. She thinks she can help you. She thinks you belong to her…" With those odd words, the seething hatred in her voice seemed to intensify, as she turned her head slightly to glare up the stairs, before looking back to Spike.

"But it doesn't matter. She doesn't matter. She's not even real."

The words made absolutely no sense – and yet they angered Spike in a way that he could not explain. Unexpectedly, he jerked his mouth out from under her hand, one hand rising to grip her wrist and hold it away from her mark, twisting quickly and managing somehow to escape her grip, toppling the chair in the process.

But it was between them.

He faced her warily, eyes wide and searching for any escape. Buffy was clearly out of control – out of control? She had left the building entirely for the moment. All he could think was that he had to get himself and Dawn away from her as quickly as possible.

And his fledgling plans were dashed in an instant, with a quiet, authoritative command from his claimant.

Dark eyes blazing with wrath, the thing inhabiting Buffy at the moment, glared at him with menace as she said softly, "Still."

Spike's mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something -- anything -- but what he did – was to keep still.

He stood there, helplessly frozen by her command, struggling to overcome it, but unable to disobey, as she slowly approached him, kicking the chair between them across the room with savage force, shattering it into pieces against the far wall.

Spike was vaguely aware of Dawn's hurried footsteps on the stairs, her concerned, small voice calling his name, drawn by the crashing sound. He was more aware of the steadily advancing Slayer, his doom glittering in her feral, furious eyes.

She reached him, stopping just a foot or so away from him, looking him up and down with a cruel smile.

"Buffy," Dawn's small, trembling voice called from the bottom of the stairs, then again from a few steps nearer, "Buffy, don't!"

The Slayer stretched a deceptively tender hand toward him, caressing lightly over the mark, and although he did not want to respond, wanted to reject her hold over him – his head tipped back and to the side, allowing her access, acknowledging wordlessly that he was hers.

Her hand at his throat suddenly jerked him closer to her, and she spoke softly but with overwhelming intensity, her lips, her eyes, bare inches from his own.

"You…are…mine."

She released him then, taking a step back, looking him up and down. He was aware the instant before it happened of the vindictive fury, the desire to punish him in her eyes of jade – knew what she was going to do.

Her fist smashed down once again across the side of his head in a blow of such power that it felled him to the floor, struggling for consciousness, Dawn's terrified screams in the background sounding hollow and faint to his assaulted ears.

And in the next moment, he was barely aware as the kitchen door opened, and someone entered – until he felt the shock go through his claimant, felt every inch of her emotion.

Shock – guilt – fear – and finally, sorrow and shame, as the feral dominating creature was driven back by the strength of the girl's bond with the person who had just entered the house.

And with the single word that echoed through the Slayer's mind, and thus through his own, Spike felt an intense sense of relief. He did not know how, but he knew that everything was going to be all right, when he heard that single whispered breath of thought in Buffy's timid, confused mind.

Mommy?


	32. Chapter 32

Buffy felt as if she were drifting out of a dense fog in which she had been lost, just barely able to see what had been taking place during the past few minutes, but unable to take any real part in it – to control it. And yet – she had the vague sense that it was her who had done it. Overwhelmed by a powerful rage, a force that had taken her over...

And left her to take in the damage she had done – without meaning to – without even realizing that she had.

Her mother stood in the doorway, staring at her in wide-eyed shock and horrified dismay; her little sister stood by the stairs, her eyes huge as she looked at Buffy with an expression of confusion and terror that made her feel sick inside. They both looked at her as if she were a stranger – as if they had never really known her at all.

Maybe they hadn't, if she was capable of something like…

Oh, God…Spike…

Her eyes came to rest on the fallen, dazed vampire on the floor at her feet – where her fists had driven him. His eyes were fastened on the floor as he fought the haze that surrounded him, warring for his consciousness against the violence of her attack. His body was trembling as he tried to pull himself up on weakened arms.

Why should he be so weak? she wondered with alarm. She had only hit him once. But then she remembered – she had also attacked him through her mark on his throat, through the bond that made him hers, using it deliberately to cause him the most excruciating pain that she could, to punish him for…for what?

What had Spike done to merit such violence?

The answer was painfully clear to her: nothing at all.

These thoughts all rushed through her mind in a matter of moments, and in the next instant she crouched down in front of Spike, reaching a trembling hand toward him, with the intent of helping him up.

He flinched back away from her with a sharp intake of breath that revealed his fear, but then froze, not daring to pull away from her any further. She could see it on his face – the cautious expression, deliberately calm, keeping perfectly -- obediently -- still, as he struggled with his instincts, not to resist her, not to give her any further reason to hurt him, even with such a small defiance.

Buffy's hand stopped, her heart smote with the truth of the matter. He expected her to hurt him now, after all she had done to him already. He was afraid of her, afraid of angering her simply by pulling away from her touch on his body – which was his right – wasn't it?

And she had placed that fear in him.

Oh God…what is happening to me? What am I becoming?

Joyce had no way of knowing anything about her daughter's internal turmoil of the moment. All she saw was Buffy's powerful fist viciously striking the vampire to the ground; then crouching down beside him to touch him again. Whether the touch was intended to harm, or to help, did not matter. Joyce saw Spike's instantaneous reaction of fear to Buffy's touch, before his entire body went rigid and he forced himself to not resist.

She was across the room in an instant, gripping Buffy's arm none-too-gently and pulling her up and away from the fallen vampire.

"Get away from him," she ordered sharply, a note of anger and disgust in her voice that made the little girl inside the Slayer quail at her mother's disapproval.

As Joyce knelt down at Spike's side, Buffy stepped back, feeling useless and ashamed and awkward and completely clueless as to what she should do. She wanted to help, but knew that her help was not wanted at the moment – and understandably so. She was still dazed from the whole experience, too much so to wonder about the tenderness in her mother's eyes as she looked at Spike.

She did realize, however, that her mother did not really seem surprised by the whole thing. Spike must have told Dawn what had happened, and Dawn must have contacted her. Buffy was just too overwhelmed by all of it to try to figure it out now.

She felt a strange mixture of emotions – dread, shame, relief – like a child who knows she's going to be in trouble for wandering off, but is still so very grateful to have been found.

"Mom," she began weakly, feeling like she should try to explain – but having no idea what to say.

"Buffy, please be quiet," Joyce cut her off in a quiet, terse voice that made Buffy flinch. For the moment, her concern was completely focused on Spike.

Over the past few months, the blonde vampire had become a welcome fixture in her home – an extended part of her family, like one of her own children to her, though in reality he was over a century older than her.

In some ways, the emotional, expressive creature, who wore his heart on his sleeve, and tried sloppily to cover it up with a façade of bravado, was every bit as vulnerable in her eyes as either of her daughters – every bit as much in need of love and – well, mothering.

When Dawn had called her and given her a shaky, uncertain description of what was going on between Spike and her older daughter, she had found it difficult to understand – but the fear in her youngest's voice had been enough to make her cut her trip short and come home early.

She had worried about Spike when he had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet about a month earlier, and had worried still more when Buffy had mentioned finding him, apparently rendered unable to so much as defend himself against humans, let alone feed.

It was clear from the start that Buffy held no sympathy for the situation of the essentially crippled vampire, and Joyce had thought it wisest not to mention his friendship with her and Dawn – at least not while he was the captive of Buffy and her Watcher.

She was quite certain that Buffy would be furious over the whole situation. Whether or not she would recognize the reason behind her anger, Joyce knew that it would be the idea of being deceived by her mother and sister that would bother Buffy the most.

But Spike would be the one to pay the price.

Buffy had responded to her mother's subtle questioning by saying that she could not stake Spike in his current helpless condition – she just would not feel right about hurting a creature that could not fight back, and Joyce had felt at the time that she was sincere. So, she had kept her mouth shut and hoped for the best, determined however to intervene the moment it seemed that Spike was in danger.

And that moment had come when she had walked through her front door, just in time to see the helpless vampire crumpled under the power of her daughter's brutal fist.

"Spike," she said softly, crouching down beside him where Buffy had been, her serious, concerned eyes seeking his downcast gaze.

His mouth was trembling as he drew in short, shallow breaths, obviously in pain and clearly badly shaken by the incident, but managing to keep an impressive amount of control over his emotions, considering the circumstances.

She leaned forward, edging nearer and reaching toward him with a gentle hand. "Spike," she repeated firmly. "Are you okay?"

She was surprised, and a bit hurt, when he jerked away from her – but realized an instant later that it was not her he was afraid of, when his eyes shot up anxiously to Buffy's face, obviously trying to gauge her reaction to what Joyce had done. He drew back cautiously against the base of the center island, trying to make it unmistakable to Buffy that he and Joyce were not overly close.

Not anywhere near as close as they actually were.

He had no way of knowing what small, innocent thing might set off her jealous, possessive rage next.

Joyce turned wide, stunned eyes on her daughter, as intuition revealed to her the reason for Spike's fear, and the look of anguished disbelief on her mother's face struck Buffy like a blow, as Joyce shook her head slowly in dismay.

Then, her mouth set in a firm line, and she said in a calm but severe voice, "Buffy – I think you'd better leave the room for the moment."

Buffy's eyes widened, a cold feeling of fear beginning in the pit of her stomach – she was beginning to feel like an outsider in her own home. This thing inside her, whatever it was, was turning her into an outsider.

"But – Mom…" she protested in a weak, trembling voice.

"Buffy!" Joyce snapped, lowering her voice when Spike flinched almost imperceptibly beside her – presumably not because of Joyce's anger, but because of Buffy's potential reaction to it. "I am your mother and this is my home. And I am telling you to leave the room. Now."

Buffy recognized the tone of her mother's voice, knew that there would be no room for argument, and turned to slowly, dejectedly obey.

"Buffy Anne Summers."

Her mother's firm voice stopped her in the doorway, and she turned around, biting her lower lip, a faint glimmer of hope in her tearful green eyes. The look on her face, while completely genuine, had rarely failed to get her her way in the past.

It did this time.

"Do not leave this house," Joyce said quietly, a warning note to her voice. "You don't need to be here right now. But we are going to discuss this, young lady. Tonight. So don't go far."

Buffy nodded, her head lowered in subdued disappointment, before she turned and went up the stairs to her bedroom – still just as she had left it when she had moved into the dorms on campus.

As soon as she was out of sight, Joyce saw Spike visibly relax, his whole body trembling as he leaned his head back against the island, breathing out a deep, shaky breath of relief. Joyce watched him cautiously for a moment, trying to gauge his condition. His mouth was bleeding and bruised from Buffy's blow, but other than that she could see no visible wounds on him – and yet, he appeared to be in pain.

Slowly, silently, she reached out a hand and took his firmly. Instinctively he started to jerk it back, before remembering himself and relaxing his hand in her gentle grip, bringing a second cool, shaking hand to cover hers in a desperate need for reassurance. At that silent signal that it was all right, Joyce slid a little closer to him.

Dawn took the cue as well, and moved eagerly closer. "Are you okay? Spike, are you all right?" she asked anxiously, her voice trembling, afraid and uncertain.

Joyce held up a hand to silence her daughter, but Spike nodded shakily, opening his eyes to look up at Dawn with a weak smile. " 'M all right, Bit. 'S all right. I – I'll be okay in – in a minute."

His breath was still coming hard, and he winced painfully as he finished speaking, leaning his head back again, his hand rising to cover the still-throbbing mark on his throat, concealed from Dawn and Joyce by his shirt. He had no idea what Buffy had done to him. This was different from the other times she had used her mark to punish him. The pain had lessened since she had done it, but was still coursing through him in ever-weakening waves – too slowly weakening.

"What is it?" Joyce asked gently, aware that something was wrong that was not immediately obvious, edging in nearer and putting a comforting arm around his shoulder as she looked him over more closely with a concerned frown. "Where are you hurt?"

He shook his head weakly, not knowing how to answer her question simply, and his mind too full of pain to come up with a proper answer. "It – it'll pass…" he whispered. "It'll…"

His voice trailed off, as another wave of pain hit him, weaker than the last – but still strong enough. He pulled away just slightly from Joyce's arm around him, uncomfortable with her gentle affection. He was in physical pain, and his emotions were so raw and near to the surface from the past few days of abuse he had endured, that he was sure that any more tenderness would cause him to break down completely.

And that was the last thing he wanted, especially in front of Dawn.

Joyce looked at him closely for a moment, and then followed her usually accurate motherly instincts. She did not loosen her gentle arm around him, only pulled him slightly closer, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at Dawn as she edged closer to Spike.

"Dawnie, Honey…could you give us a few minutes? There's something I'd like to talk to Spike about."

Dawn frowned, reluctant to obey. She did not want to be sent from the room like a child, so the "grown-ups" could talk. Spike was as much her friend as he was her mother's. But then – Dawn's instincts were nearly as good as her mother's, and she sensed that this call on her mother's part was the right one. She nodded silently and headed toward the door.

Joyce turned her attention back to Spike, who had just drawn in a sharp breath as the latest wave of pain, much milder now, coursed through him – so neither noticed the girl's moment of indecision. She had planned on waiting in the living room with a bit of mindless television, but she stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up them thoughtfully. As she did, her jaw slowly set in a hard, angry line, and her eyes narrowed as her decision was made.

Quickly and purposefully, Dawn made her way up the stairs.

Oblivious to her daughter's decision, Joyce turned her full attention on Spike, who was still breathing hard with the exertion of Buffy's punishment on his body, but had an expression of relief on his face – as if the pain had finally passed. Joyce gently sat forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and urging him to sit up, to face her. His eyes were still down, and he swallowed hard, realizing that the moment of truth, so to speak, had come.

"So what happened?" Joyce asked softly, but intently, seeking his gaze.

He still kept it stubbornly averted, his jaw set in determination – but still trembling just a bit, his hand still unconsciously resting at his throat.

Joyce noticed that immediately, and took one hand from his shoulder to gently tip his chin up to meet her eyes. Reluctantly, he complied; he could resist Joyce Summers no better than he could have resisted his own mum as a boy.

His eyes widened in alarm, and he swallowed reflexively, as he saw her intent in her eyes, before she took her other hand from his shoulder to close around his wrist, gently pulling it down away from the spot he was so carefully covering. He shook his head slightly, a pleading look in his eyes, but her eyes were so full of compassion and understanding, and he knew beyond all doubt that if there was one person he could trust completely, it was Joyce Summers.

Reluctantly, he allowed her to move his hand, to carefully pull the soft fabric of his shirt collar down far enough to reveal the glaring red mark on his throat; he turned his head away, his eyes closed in unexplained shame, not wanting to see her reaction to what she would see.

Her eyes widened in silent shock as she took in the puncture wound, healed very little since the moment it was inflicted, and at the moment appearing livid and inflamed – most likely as a result of Buffy's touch only moments before.

After a moment, she released his shirt, allowing the fabric to cover the mark again, and he winced slightly at the twinge of pain at the contact.

"We need to take care of that," Joyce said softly, a bit briskly, obviously trying to put off thinking about the truth she already knew of just how that ugly wound had been inflicted, by focusing on taking care of Spike. "We need to…"

Spike shook his head listlessly, his eyes still downcast. "Can't take care of it. Won't heal," he explained softly. " 'S permanent."

Joyce's eyes widened again as she took that in, with all its implications, in the light of what Dawn had told her on the phone – which was all starting to make a lot more sense now.

After a moment, she forced herself to ask for the confirmation of what she already knew. "And," she said in a voice barely over a whisper, "Buffy…?"

He nodded weakly, his eyes closed against the tears that welled up in his eyes. "She claimed me. As – her mate. I'm hers now. Forever. Like – like – marriage."

He steeled himself inwardly for the reaction he expected, to his best attempt to explain the situation in human terms. There was no way that this beautiful lady would see a creature such as himself as a fit eternal mate for her lovely, intelligent, powerful daughter – a Slayer, no less.

But Joyce's reaction was nothing like he expected.

There was anger in her voice when she spoke – but it was not directed at him.

"And this is the sort of behavior that Buffy thinks is appropriate in that sort of relationship?" she said in a voice that trembled with outrage. "Her father and I didn't always get along. In the end we couldn't make it work out. But he never…" She paused, shaking her head, fighting for control of her emotions. "I would never have even considered…" she tried again, finally giving up and pulling the slightly resistant vampire into her arms.

His body was stiff, rigid in her arms, as he valiantly tried to keep from breaking down – but her sympathy, her concern and love were just so much what he had needed the past few days – he could feel the tremors rising up in him, beginning in his stomach and shaking through him.

"It's okay," Joyce whispered softly as she felt his physical reaction to the emotions that were overcoming him. "It's okay. She had no right to do this to you, Spike, and we're gonna get this worked out."

There's no way to work it out, he thought despairingly, as he lowered his head to Joyce's shoulder, gasping in an attempt to hold back his tears. It's done…it's done…forever…no way to…

"It's gonna be all right," Joyce's gentle reassurance broke into his negative thoughts, her hand rising to the back of his head in a supportive, motherly gesture that made his struggle for control that much harder. "It's okay. And no matter what happens, I'm not gonna let her hurt you, Spike." She paused, and he felt the emphatic shake of her head against his.

"I don't care if she is my own daughter," she went on softly after a moment, slowly rocking back and forth in a soothing motion, holding him close to her. "Nobody messes with my family – even – well – my family."

Her awkward words made him laugh softly in spite of himself – shaky, shallow laughter that suddenly became deep, wrenching sobs, as the power of being accepted, being included in such a way – her family -- created such a contrast with the savage possession of the bond he had found himself in, as to make control no longer possible.

He broke down, allowing himself to relax against her, sobbing against her shoulder, shaking, as she held him close, rubbing her hand slowly up and down his back as she had done to Dawn and Buffy countless times in moments of sorrow or sickness.

She was a mother – it was sort of her job.

She gave him all the time he needed to get out the pain, the confusion and torment of the past few days, not saying a word, just holding and soothing him until he was finally able to regain some control of his emotions. When his tears had ceased, she pulled back gently, her head tipped downward until she caught his eye, and he reluctantly looked up at her, a subdued, uncertain question in his eyes.

"Okay," she said softly, rubbing a tear from his cheek with her thumb, a soft, sympathetic smile on her lips. "Better?"

He nodded slowly. "Feel a right ponce," he muttered. "But – yeah. Better."

She smiled, shaking her in silent dismissal of his negative self-assessment. "Now," she said quietly, leaning back against the counter, her hand sliding down from his shoulder to supportively take his hand.

"Why don't you tell me how this happened?"


	33. Chapter 33

Spike let out a soft, sort of sad laugh at Joyce's question, before asking softly, "Where do you want me to start, love?"

He scooted back a bit on the floor, leaning back beside her against the counter, admittedly feeling much more relaxed than he had before her arrival. In all honesty, he did not know just how much Joyce would be able to do to actually keep her word to protect him from her daughter.

In fact, he was kind of afraid to see what might happen if -- when -- the need arose and she actually tried. It filled him an uncomfortable anxious feeling to think about it, knowing that with Buffy as out of control and unpredictable as she was at the moment, her mother stood a very real chance of being hurt in the attempt.

After all, Joyce was determined and definitely a force to be reckoned with when it came to her family – but she was no Slayer.

Still, her very presence made him feel secure and safe and so very relieved – at least, as much as was possible to feel while knowing that his unstable and unpredictably violent claimant was upstairs – away from him for the moment, but certainly not for good. What was even more unsettling was the fact that even now, he did not want her gone for good.

In spite of everything, a part of him wanted to leave Joyce here in the kitchen and seek out Buffy.

"How about the beginning?" Joyce suggested softly, her mild words and the gentle squeeze of her hand on his drawing his thoughts back to the conversation.

He took a deep, shaky breath, steeling himself to answer a single, simple question, for which he had no simple answer. There were parts of the story that he was desperately afraid to tell her, some because he knew they would shatter her image of her daughter – others, because he was afraid of how it would affect the way she saw him.

He felt a cold sense of fear clench around his stomach, not the physical fear he held of Buffy at the moment – this was something different. Having grasped at the slim piece of hope that Joyce had held out to him the moment she had walked through the door of her house and into the scene she had interrupted, he did not want to do anything to spoil it – and he was terribly afraid that some of the things she was asking about might make her give up her resolve to help him.

And if he lost her support now – well, he might as well just walk out into the sun, as he had threatened to do the morning before, in this very kitchen.

He almost wished he had.

"Well," he forced himself to begin, his eyes focused on the floor in front of him and his voice lower than usual to disguise its shaking. "S'pose the whole thing began when her Watcher got it in his head that I needed controlling…"

"I said the beginning, Spike." The quiet interruption, spoken in a voice that was patient, but unyielding, made his stomach do a funny little flip, as he realized that he was not going to get anything past Joyce Summers – might as well not even try. "As in, when you pulled your amazing disappearing act and scared me and Dawn half out of our minds worrying about you."

Spike grimaced slightly at those words, feeling a pang of guilt at the pain his denial had caused them. "I'm sorry, Joyce," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to…I just…" He wanted to be completely honest with her, but he simply could not bring himself to explain why he had suddenly avoided her and Dawn.

She seemed to understand, nodded and prompting gently, "What happened while you were gone? Buffy told us something about some…secret, government…commando types or something?" A frown of confusion marked her awkward, vague remembrance of Buffys' equally vague explanation.

Relieved to be granted a bit of a reprieve on the part of the conversation where he explained how he had stopped seeing them because he was secretly in love with Buffy and trying to work up the nerve to kill her to get over it, Spike took another deep breath and launched into his explanation.

"Bloody army blokes. Captured me, and – and – I really don't remember much of – of what happened – while I was there," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. Her silence indicated that if she did not believe him, she was not going to push it, so he went on. "Got away…but found out…um, right away…they done something to me while I was in there. I – I couldn't – couldn't feed, or – well, couldn't hurt a human at all, or I got this…this pain in my head…"

He deliberately skipped over the explanation of exactly how he had found that out, his voice softening with the pain of remembering the suddenly helpless situation he had found himself in. In a quiet, halting voice, he explained to Joyce how confused and frightened he had been – how terrifying the feeling of being unable to even defend himself, even to feed to survive…

Joyce slipped her arm around his shoulder, swallowing back a hard knot that had arisen in her throat at his words, her eyes troubled and dark with anger at the strangers who had damaged one of her own. It did not seem to register with her that that "one of her own" was a vampire, and that the damage had been to prevent him from killing humans.

They had made him helpless, and afraid – and to her, that was unforgivable.

"Why didn't you come to me?" she asked quietly, a gentle reproof in her words. "You know I would have helped you, Spike."

"I – I didn't want – after I'd just – just taken off like that," he tried to explain weakly, his eyes welling with tears at the affection in her voice and her mothering hands. "I – I did," he told her suddenly, as if in defense of his actions, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking down again. "But – but you and the bit weren't home, and – I guess you were out of town or something…"

Joyce frowned, then nodded slowly, remembering. With Buffy away at college, she had taken Dawn with her to an art showing in L.A. She felt a brief, unreasonable pang of guilt that she had not been here for Spike, realizing that in a way, that was what had led to his current situation.

"So you went to Buffy, instead," she surmised.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Thought – thought at least she'd be fair about it. Knew she wouldn't stake me – not if she knew how bloody pathetic I'd become…"

His voice carefully calm as he fought against the pain of his memories and the Joyce's gentle affection, not to give in to his emotions again, Spike explained to her about the couple of weeks he had spent as a captive in the Watcher's home. He avoided saying too much about that time, but she could hear it in his tone, and the words he did not say – the fear, the helplessness, the indignity and shame of being treated like less than human.

Joyce's eyes narrowed with anger, her jaw setting in a firm line, though she did not say a word, as she took in what her daughter and her friends – and even the Watcher for whom she had held a certain amount of respect – had done to Spike.

Oh, no, couldn't stake him if he's helpless! she thought darkly. But holding him prisoner – slapping him around – treating him like nothing but garbage – all that's okay in my daughter's moral code. Buffy and I are going to have quite the little talk later, she resolved as Spike went on with his story.

"So – let me get this straight," she broke in with restrained anger a few minutes later. "For some reason, Buffy and her friends felt like even though you couldn't hurt humans at all any more, couldn't even defend yourself – they still had to come up with some other way to control you?"

Spike shrugged slightly, with a dejected little nod. "Didn't make any bloody sense to me, either," he muttered shakily.

His story slowed down a bit, and he struggled over the words, as he tried to be as honest as he could while explaining to Joyce about the ritual and what it had entailed. She was silent, not interrupting, as he spoke, and he could not meet her eyes, so he had no idea just exactly how she was reacting to the information of what her daughter had planned to do.

"The claiming," he said softly, his voice barely over a whisper. "That – that was my fault, Joyce. I – Buffy just thought she was – just doing what the ritual said…I – I was trying to get the better of her…and – and I made her think I had already lost, and then – then I – bit her – tried to claim her. I – didn't think – I – I just didn't think," he admitted in a trembling, fearful voice. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

"Why should you be sorry?" Joyce interrupted suddenly, and he swallowed hard, fighting back tears when he heard the fury in her tone.

Was that sarcasm in her voice? Oh, bloody hell – he'd done it…he'd said too much, he'd crossed a line with what he had done – or tried to do – to Buffy, and he'd lost her support, her friendship…

He flinched slightly as her gentle hand turned his face up to meet hers suddenly, his eyes averted. He could not stand to see the anger, the accusation that had to be in her eyes at that moment.

"Look at me," she said softly.

He swallowed hard, fighting his instinct to bolt – to flee from the rejection that would simply be too much for him to bear. But he knew that it would do no good – he was irrevocably bound to at least one Summers woman – and would always end up back here, no matter how hard he tried to get away.

He looked up at her through desperate, pleading eyes – and was stunned by the tears, the sorrow he saw in hers. Yes, there was anger there too, and plenty of it – but it was not directed at him.

"Why should you be sorry, Spike?" she asked him, holding his gaze firmly. "She tried to make you – a – a slave, basically. She tried to take away your very free will – and on top of all that, she was willing to – to force you into a sexual act against your will to do it."

The harsh reality of her words was stunning to him, and he looked away for a moment, his eyes wide as he took it in.

Her voice drew his eyes back up to hers as she went on. "Why should you be sorry for doing whatever you could to keep her from doing that?" She paused, shaking her head slightly as she continued, "No, it wasn't the wisest choice, all things considered. But at the time, you probably felt like it was all you could do. And you knew what you were doing…didn't you?"

He frowned, confused by the question.

"You knew it was a mating claim you were initiating – not a dominance claim – didn't you?"

He was stunned, not expecting her to have called him on his true intentions so openly, and he looked away again. He nodded slowly, unsure of what her reaction would be to those words.

Her voice softened as she stated calmly, "You could have kept fighting her. And you probably could have won. You could have made my daughter your slave – and she would have deserved it after what she did to you. But – instead, you tried to make her something else entirely." She paused, before going on, "You tried to end the dominance ritual by making her your eternal mate."

He was silent, not denying the words, waiting for her point – which was not long in coming, and struck him with a powerful impact.

"You love her – don't you?"

Spike was silent for a long moment, in useless debate over how to respond – because the woman knew the bloody truth already…there was no point in denying it. He lowered his head, closing his eyes against fresh tears.

"Yes," he whispered, his pain clear in his trembling voice. "I – I love her. I have – for a long time now…"

"That's why you left – isn't it?"

Bloody hell, but the woman was just too sharp! He grimaced slightly, then nodded his admission.

"I couldn't – just couldn't take – every day, seeing – and not…"

Joyce put her arms around him again, allowing him to cease his achingly desperate, confused rambling attempt at explaining what he could not put into words. She just held him for a long moment, as his cautious hands clung to her waist, his head buried in her shoulder again.

When he had regained some semblance of control, Joyce pulled back, a puzzled frown on her face. "So," she asked softly. "Why doesn't Buffy – have…I mean, if you bit her first…"

Understanding dawned in the vampire's eyes – with fresh pain at the answer. "You've got to accept the claim for it to be permanent – got to say that you accept it. She," he began softly, struggling over the words. "She – didn't accept my claim. She said – no, she didn't want to be mine. And then she said that – that I was hers, still – and bit me…and…and…"

"And you accepted hers," Joyce concluded, anger building again in her voice and eyes.

"Yes," he whispered. "I – I wanted – so bad…to…to be…"

He could not finish, but Joyce understood. Spike had genuinely loved her daughter, even then, though he had tried to conceal it. For him, the chance to be hers, to belong to her and be with her forever – well, as much as forever as the Slayer would have – had been worth the risk.

She wondered if he still thought it worth it.

Buffy had callously run over his feelings, using them against him to make him a virtual slave to her whims, with no compassion or concern for his feelings – even going so far as to extend to the physical abuse that Joyce had witnessed earlier.

"And she's been – treating you like this – ever since?" she asked, her voice cool with a dark note to it that drew his eyes up to hers sharply, alarmed.

He knew exactly what she meant, and answered cautiously, "Not – all the time. She can't control it, Joyce. It's not her fault."

Her eyes softened with compassion, as she raised a gentle hand to touch his cheek, and smiled sadly. "That's what they all say, Sweetie."

Her soft, clear words were simple, but impactful. He knew there was more to it than Joyce realized – but still, he could not help but think that she had a point. Even before all of this had taken place, Buffy had had a tendency toward violence with him. This whole ritual had intensified it, yeah – but he still felt that in a way, even in the worst of it, when something else seemed to have taken her over, it was still somehow -- Buffy.

"But it stops, Spike," Joyce said firmly. "It stops tonight."

She stood up, and he looked up at her for a moment, before accepting her extended hand to help him to his feet. He studied her face uncertainly for a moment, unsure what she intended to do – unsure what she could do.

"Me and the Slayer are going to have a little talk," she declared, and the caustic tone with which she spoke her daughter's title spoke of her current disgust for its violent implications. "I want you to wait down here, Spike. I'll be back in a little while."

He nodded, uncertain, but obedient, as she headed toward the stairs, stopping at the base to look back at him with determined fire in her eyes, taking in the fading bruise on his cheek, the fear that should not have been in his eyes.

"She will not do this to you again."


	34. Chapter 34

While her mother was downstairs sitting on the kitchen floor, comforting the one she had unintentionally yet cruelly victimized, Buffy lay facedown, sideways across her bed, her face buried in her crossed arms in front of her, sobbing quietly.

It did not occur to her just then to wonder at the oddity of that fact – that her mother was so concerned about the traumatized vampire, and so angry with her for traumatizing him. Really, all her mother had observed was a single blow – really not that unusual of an action for a Slayer to take toward a vampire. True, her mother knew that Spike could not fight back – but she was under the impression that it was for entirely different reasons than it actually was.

If Buffy had been thinking clearly, her mother's behavior would have clued her in to the fact that there was more to the situation than she was aware of – given her some hint of the friendship that had been kept a secret from her to this point. But, in her own guilt and shame over her violence and cruelty toward Spike, she subconsciously expected the accusation, the anger, she had received from her mother.

She was not surprised by the horrified reaction her violence had received – as she was horrified by it herself.

It still all felt so surreal, so distant and strange to her – and yet at the same time, painfully real and intimate. She remembered clearly every single word she had spoken, every cruel way in which she had hurt Spike, during the moments when she had not been in control of herself – and the most frightening part was that in a way, she had the odd sense that it had been her doing and saying those vicious things to the defenseless vampire, that she had rendered helpless by the thoughtless, reckless action of claiming him as her own.

Her own mate.

God, that single concept alone was still mind-boggling!

As if matters were not complicated enough, in addition to the powerful possessive rage that compelled her to keep Spike under her control – to prove any time her claim was even slightly challenged, that he was undeniably hers -- there was the tender side of the bond that joined them as mates, the link that made her want to protect and cherish him above all others. She was utterly horrified every time when she would come to herself in the wake of a violent attack on the vampire, resolving that no matter what, it would not happen again.

And yet it did – over and over again.

And her guilt was intensified not only by her normal sense of morality, but by the manufactured feelings that she now had for Spike, due to the mating claim that bound them.

They were manufactured feelings – right? Only there because of the claim?

Like everything else in her life at the moment – Buffy simply did not know. She was confused and afraid, and felt more alone than she had ever felt in her life. Her fear and pride, and the strange force within her had all worked together to keep her silent about the true nature of her dilemma when she had had the chance to reveal it to her Watcher and friends.

Now, no one but her really knew the extent of her fear, her confusion and helplessness in the situation she was trapped in – and now even her own mother saw not what she was going through, but what she was doing -- and was disgusted by it.

She just lay there, crying softly, facedown on her bed, the picture of despairing, dejected misery.

Or, the picture of over-dramatic self-pity, as it appeared to Dawn, standing in the doorway of her sister's bedroom, casting a narrow shadow over Buffy's prone form.

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself," she snapped in a voice that trembled with derisive anger. "You're not the one who just got the crap knocked out of him for no good reason!"

"I feel like I did," Buffy mumbled without raising her head.

Dawn smiled sweetly. "Well if you had -- there would have been a very good reason," she assured her.

Buffy looked up at her sister blankly, showing no reaction to her snide remark, wondering vaguely why Dawn was so angry with her. She knew that it was the struggle between her and Spike, just before she had hit him, that had drawn Dawn downstairs to see what was going on – so all the girl could possibly have seen was the same typical Slayer behavior her mother had seen – that single punch.

Of course, Buffy remembered suddenly, the very thing that had set off the possessive force within her was the revelation that Spike had confided in Dawn about what had been going on between them. So perhaps Dawn had a bit more of a reason to be upset with her than she had thought at first. She wondered suddenly why Spike would have confided in the teenager about the very adult situation he had found himself in.

Something was trying to fight its way through her fog of depression and despair, a fact trying to make itself known to her, as she began to wonder, finally, about the strangely easy, casual manner Spike seemed to have with her family. But the truth was, at the moment, she did not even feel like she had the energy to try to figure it out.

She could not even bring herself to care.

"Go away, Dawn," she muttered, her voice muffled as she lowered her head back down into the comforting cradle of her arms. "I don't feel like talking about this right now."

Dawn's eyes widened in disbelief at her sister's dismissive words – and then narrowed again in an angry challenge. "Well, that's just too bad! Because you're going to talk about this, whether you like it or not!" she declared as she stormed into her sister's room, her arms crossed over her chest in a gesture of determination.

"Dawn – just leave it," Buffy insisted in a tone of weary, overwhelmed impatience, raising her head but not opening her eyes to face her sister. "You don't have the first clue about what's going on. You don't know anything about this, so please just go away and leave me alone."

"Spike told me…"

"I don't care what Spike told you," Buffy snapped, suddenly looking up at Dawn with tears that could not mask the defensive irritation in her eyes. "You have no idea what I'm going through right now!"

"Yeah. I can imagine," Dawn said dryly, her arms slowly uncrossing and her hands going to her hips as she gave her sister a disgusted looked before commenting calmly and clearly, "It must be such a nasty bitch to be – well – a nasty bitch."

Buffy's jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in disbelief at her sister's shocking words. She was not used to hearing Dawn use that kind of language, anyway – and to hear it in the midst of such a heated personal accusation – she was struck speechless for a very long moment. And as she stared into her sister's cold, furious eyes, Buffy realized two things.

The first was that somehow, Dawn knew a lot more about the situation than she had assumed. And the second – was that she cared a lot more than Buffy ever would have guessed.

"Just how much did Spike tell you?" she asked, her voice barely over a whisper, and full of a suspicion – and a fear – that only seemed to intensify the anger in her sister's eyes.

"Why do you wanna know?" she demanded in a trembling, accusing tone. "So you know how hard to hit him later?"

Buffy flinched, although that had been the furthest thing from her mind. "Dawn," she whispered, shaking her head, unable to meet her sister's eyes. "That's – that's not fair. If he told you anything – he must have told you that I didn't mean to…"

"He told me," Dawn interrupted, a bitter note to her voice as she recalled how her friend had defended his abuser. "He was sure to make it very clear that it wasn't your fault. That you didn't mean to hurt him." She paused, her teeth worrying her lip for a moment as she considered her next words. Finally she went on, "I'm just not clear on which part he was talking about. The part where you smacked him down in the kitchen a few minutes ago – or where you beat him up in an alley last night…"

She paused, her hard, piercing glare forcing her older sister to meet her eyes as she concluded coldly, "Or the part where you decided to make him your slave, when he was already helpless – just because you could. Did you mean to do that, Buffy?"

"I made a mistake, okay?" Buffy burst out, her voice shaking and on the verge of losing control, as she stood up, turning her back on her sister and walking toward the window, trying to put a little distance between herself and the painful truth her young sister was stating, her arms crossed over her stomach defensively. "I made a big, stupid mistake…but I'm paying for it…"

"Spike's paying for it…" Dawn corrected.

"I'm paying for it, too!" Buffy nearly shouted, whirling around to face her sister again, eyes blazing with frustrated pain and anger. "You don't have any idea how – how scary this is! How scared I am and how confused and lost and – and…" She struggled for control, turning away again as a wave of tears rose up in her throat and her eyes, and she finished in a lost, lonely whisper.

"…how bad this hurts."

Both girls were silent for a long moment. Buffy was trying desperately to regain control of her emotions, and Dawn was unsure of how to respond. She had seen Buffy only as the bad guy in this situation, the person who was hurting her best friend – but there was no denying the sheer agony of emotion in her sister's voice, her expression, as she studied her unexpectedly vulnerable face, her tear-filled eyes and trembling mouth.

"No one has any idea," Buffy whispered finally, shaking her head, a desolate, aching despair in her voice.

After a long moment, Dawn spoke in a much gentler voice than she had used with her sister thus far. "That's not exactly true," she reminded her pointedly.

Buffy looked up at her, surprised by her words. When she said nothing else, Buffy looked away again, taking in what she had just said, remembering with a pang of guilt that Spike certainly understood what she was going through – and yet, he probably felt every bit as alone as she did. She wondered suddenly if she had been going about this whole thing all wrong.

Why should either of them have to be so alone in this hurtful situation?

Since discovering the dangerous alter ego that she had developed as a result of the claim, she had been struggling with how to act around Spike, what was the appropriate way to treat him. Besides that one tender encounter they had shared the night before, she had spent most of the time she had had when she had been in control, avoiding him, trying desperately to keep from hurting him.

But was she hurting him simply by staying away?

Whether she liked it or not, she had irrevocably bound him to her. Their connection to each other was something that was not going to go away, no matter how badly she wished it would. She wondered suddenly, if perhaps her avoidance and failed attempts to distance herself from him were only making things worse.

The claim was eternal; he needed her desperately, and she hated to admit it, but she needed him, too. And yet, she realized with an aching empty feeling inside – in a way, she hardly knew him. They had spent most of the time that they had known each other trying to kill each other – or at least professing to – and since he had become unable to hurt her, she had hardly spoken to him except to tell him to shut up.

She frowned, troubled and thoughtful.

Eternity was a long time to spend with a stranger.

Maybe it's about time I actually started getting to know Spike – my mate, she realized in an unexpected moment of clarity.

"Buffy?"

Dawn's quiet, questioning voice drew her back to the moment, and she looked up at her sister with startled eyes.

"You have to find a way to stop this, Buffy. You can't keep doing this to him," the younger girl insisted. There was more compassion in her voice for her sister now – but her tone was still unyielding. She refused to just stand by and watch as Buffy destroyed her friend, little by little.

"I know that," Buffy agreed in a whisper, her eyes downcast. "Giles is working on…"

"Breaking the bond, I know," Dawn finished for her. "But – I don't really get the impression that the bond is the only thing going on here, do you? And what good does it do if he breaks the claim – if while he's working on it, you end up killing Spike?"

Buffy cringed at the voicing of the very real fear that had been in the back of her mind. A few months ago, "killing Spike" would not have seemed like such a terrible idea to her. They were mortal enemies, after all. But now, the very thought struck a cold sense of terror deep into her heart.

It stunned her, the power of the feelings for him that flooded her at the thought of losing him – ironically, at her own hand. A protective affection filled her, and her eyes widened in surprise at the power of the emotion.

That's not going to happen, she thought with a fresh determination. If she had to abase herself, had to admit everything, before her friends and her Watcher – no matter what she had to do, she was not going to let that happen.

"That's not going to happen." Her mother's voice from the doorway, speaking her thoughts, startled both girls before Buffy could respond aloud to her sister's question.

As Joyce stepped through the door into Buffy's room, her arms crossed over her chest and a determined set to her lips, she added firmly, "I'm not going to let it."


	35. Chapter 35

"Dawnie, honey – please go downstairs with Spike," Joyce said calmly, her words a request, but her tone a command, as she spoke to Dawn, but kept her eyes focused on Buffy.

"But Mom…"

"Now."

With an irritated huff, Dawn turned and headed down the stairs. At least, if she could not watch the extreme tongue lashing that Buffy was about to receive, she could pass the time offering what comfort she could to her physically and emotionally injured crush-slash-friend.

Joyce closed the door firmly behind her younger daughter, before turning to face the older girl again. Buffy stood near the window, a wide-eyed, trapped expression on her face. Clearly, she was terrified.

Good, Joyce thought, trying to keep the instinct to rush forward and comfort her child at bay, reminding herself that Buffy was not the one who had been wronged. I'm sure Spike's spent every moment of the past few days terrified – won't hurt Buffy to know what it's like.

Desperately seeking to hold off the conversation she knew was about to take place, Buffy blurted out, "You sent Dawn down there to wait with Spike? His chip doesn't work anymore, Mom! He can hurt her!"

"He won't," Joyce replied without hesitation, and the certainty in her eyes was startling to Buffy.

She knew deep down that it was true. First of all, there was her order to Spike not to hurt Dawn, which she knew that he could not have disobeyed if he had tried. But beyond that, there was a surety deep within her, telling her beyond all doubt that regardless of her command, Spike would never harm those nearest and dearest to her heart.

She had assumed that it was because Dawn was her sister – that Spike would not hurt Dawn merely because he knew that to do so would be to hurt Buffy. But now, faced with the certainty in her mother's eyes, her unwavering belief that Dawn was safe in the company of the master vampire in their living room – the master vampire that she had just gone out of her way to comfort and was now ready to defend so fiercely…

Buffy had to wonder if it was more than his connection to her, that restrained the vampire from harming her defenseless little sister.

Unaware of her daughter's rising suspicions, Joyce went on, "I really don't think he's the one that's dangerous right now, Buffy! You're the one who's been hurting him, when he can't lift a finger against you! So don't even start trying to push this off on Spike. This is not his fault!"

"Yeah – let's argue about whose fault it is while he's down there eating my little sister!" Buffy snapped, unable to keep a petulant note from her voice, as she desperately tried to cling to the only subject she could find to stand between her and her mother's judgment.

Her mother would have none of it.

"Dawn is probably safer than I am right now, Buffy, so just stop trying to get out of this!" Joyce snapped, losing patience with her daughter's attempts to divert her attention, as well as with her attitude of self-pity and accusations aimed at anyone but herself.

Buffy flinched from the harsh statement, wounded by the suggestion that she might be capable of harming her own mother. But – she had threatened to hurt Dawn – hadn't she? She remembered her own words to Spike in the kitchen with an uneasy sensation in her stomach.

Even now, as the pieces of the story that had been hidden from her began to come together in her mind, she could feel the dark anger and suspicion building insider her, gaining strength, as she began to realize that her mother and sister had deceived her, and questions filled her thoughts.

Why was Dawn so furious with her for hurting Spike? Why was her own mother acting as if she had committed some heinous crime, simply by attempting to control a dangerous vampire? And why did her mother seem to trust Spike with her youngest daughter's safety, knowing that there was no chip to restrain him?

She seemed to trust him more than she trusted Buffy at the moment.

A feeling of jealousy rose in her at the thought, though she was not sure exactly who she was jealous over – her mother or her mate. As she began to question the nature of her family's unusual manner with her vampire, she could feel the possessive force within her surging up furiously, screaming for release.

"How can you say that, Mom?" she demanded in a voice that trembled with hurt and accusing anger. "This is Spike we're talking about! As in 'tried to kill me more times than I can count' Spike! How can you know for sure that he won't…"

"Buffy," Joyce interrupted angrily. "I don't need you to question my judgment on this! This is not about why I trust Spike…"

"You trust Spike?" Buffy's voice was higher than she meant it to be, and a bit shrill with her rising emotions. She had known as much already, but to hear it said aloud only made her own insecurities and suspicions that much more real to her.

"I don't need your permission to trust whomever I decide is trustworthy," Joyce informed her in a heated tone of quiet warning. "And when it comes to this family, Spike is as trustworthy as they get. He would never hurt your sister."

Buffy's eyes narrowed in accusation. "What makes you so sure?" she asked pointedly, a chilling anger in her darkened green eyes, making it clear to Joyce that she was wondering about the odd connection the vampire had to her and Dawn, which was obvious now. The Slayer's fiery eyes demanded an explanation.

"Buffy," Joyce began quietly, a tired, sad sound to her voice, "if you'd been home at all over the past few months, maybe you would already have known this."

She paused suddenly, surprised and alarmed, as she looked into her daughter's eyes – and saw a stranger glaring back at her. With a chilling realization, she recognized the frightening power that Spike had told her of, the terrifying force that took Buffy over and made her do such violent things.

Joyce's eyes narrowed in an expression that was almost defiant, as she spoke with slow certainty, deliberately addressing that force, rather than her own daughter. "Spike is my friend. I trust him with Dawn because he loves her – and me…" She opened her mouth to go on, but stopped before the words "and Buffy" could leave her lips.

That was how much a stranger this person in her daughter's body appeared to be.

"And we love him, too. And I'm not going to let you hurt him," she continued instead, her words a solid declaration against the force that seemed to desire to crush the vampire completely – to utterly possess him, or to destroy him.

Not on Joyce Summers' watch.

Buffy was struck speechless by the words, confused and frightened by the force of the possessive anger she felt, screaming inside her with rage at her mother's words. Intense, outraged words circled through her mind in a tumult of powerful, violent anger, just barely restrained by Buffy's last measure of self-control.

Spike is mine! No one else's! You can't keep him from me! He's mine!

She struggled to fight back the fury, the feelings that terrified her with the desire to lash out, to challenge any claim of any sort that any other person might feel they had to her mate. But – even her own mother? She couldn't – she had to…

Oh, God, she was so confused!

"Buffy?"

Her mother's voice was guarded but uncertain, as it tried to draw her out of her darkening thoughts. Joyce watched her closely, a sense of apprehension tight in her chest, as she became acutely aware of the violent power that was inherent in her daughter, and how very dangerous she could be if she chose to turn that power on her. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to flee.

Every instinct – but one.

Joyce took a slow, cautious step toward her obviously hurting, very troubled daughter.

"Mom," Buffy whispered, shaking her head in confusion, as if trying to clear it. "I – I'm sorry. I don't – I mean – something's…"

She stopped speaking, just shaking her head, unable to come up with words that made sense through the fog of the presence that was trying to take her over again. The threat it had made, through her lips, against her sister – the fury she felt at her mother's perceived threat to her claim, and the horrifying desire to eliminate that threat – terrified her, and made her fight that much harder for control.

I don't care who or what you are, Buffy thought with bitter anger. You won't make me hurt my family! Her hands rose unconsciously to fist in her own hair on either side of her head, as she turned away from her mother, then back toward her, caught in a losing battle for mastery of herself.

"Buffy?" Joyce's tone now was one of concern, as she drew slowly nearer to her daughter, placing a steadying hand on one of her trembling, upraised arms. "Buffy – honey – what is it?" she asked in a hushed, cautious voice.

Suddenly, like an elastic band stretched to its very limits, and then suddenly released, Buffy felt the tension of the struggle within her snap – and suddenly, she was in full control again. She stared up at her mother through wide, disoriented, almost panicked eyes, as her arms lowered slowly back to her sides – and then reached out desperately toward Joyce, whose initial impulse was to draw back in alarm.

A stricken look in her eyes, Buffy stared at her mother with a lost expression of hurt confusion.

"Mommy," she pleaded in a desperate, trembling whisper. "Help me – please help me."

Joyce's mother instincts – and pure love for her daughter – took over, and she moved forward without hesitation to take the Slayer into her arms.

Once in the shelter of her mother's arms, Buffy broke down, sobbing out a barely coherent stream of tearful apologies, pleas, attempts at explanation. Her heart aching for her little girl, but feeling helpless to actually change her situation, Joyce just held her close and allowed her to let it all out – exactly as she had done for Spike, only minutes before.

"Oh, honey," she said finally, when Buffy had been silent for a few long moments. Her voice was soft and sad and full of regret. "Why would you do something like that, Honey? Why in the world did you think that that ritual was even necessary?"

"I don't know," Buffy sobbed, her plaintive words muffled against her mother's shirt. "Giles and the others just kept saying that Spike was still dangerous, and he was always – always there, and – and I thought I should do it if that's what Giles said, and I didn't know it was going to turn out this way, and I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Mommy!" She gasped for the breath she had lost as the words had poured from her in a single, sobbing rush.

"I'm not the one you need to tell, Honey," Joyce reminded her in a voice of gentle but unyielding reproof. "Spike's the one that's been hurt by all this.

Her sobs finally subsiding completely, Buffy looked up at her mother through solemn, tearful eyes. "Mom," she informed her in a tone of bitter self-disgust. "That's all I've done since this whole thing has started is tell him I'm sorry." She paused, amending, "Hurt him, and say I'm sorry and promise not to do it again. But – but whatever this is – I – I can't control it. It always does happen again!"

Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she leaned her head against Joyce's shoulder again, falling to soak her mother's blouse as she sobbed, "I'm so sorry! I wish I hadn't done the stupid ritual! I'm so, so sorry!"

Joyce was quiet for a long moment, just letting her daughter cry. Finally, she spoke in a soft, firm voice of resolve. "But you did do the ritual, Buffy. Not quite the one you meant to, from what I understand – not that either one of them would have been a good thing," she added pointedly with a little frown.

"But – what's done is done. And now, all we can do is try to find a way to fix it if we can – and deal with it in the mean time."

That had been all that Buffy had been trying to do from the moment she had discovered the dangerous side effects of her claim – but somehow, the words were more soothing and reassuring coming from her mother's mouth. It just made sense. Panic, despair – neither would help her.

This was her situation, and there was nothing for it but to deal with it.

She sat up slowly, regaining her composure and turned a fearful, but calmer, gaze upon Joyce's serene face, as she realized the one problem – she hadn't the first clue how to go about "dealing with it".

"So – what can I do?" she asked in a very small voice with a sheepish little grimace.

"Well," Joyce began. "I should think that you and your friends need to be trying to figure out what you and Spike may have done in the course of the ritual that's not an actual part of the ritual – what might have gone wrong. Because neither the dominance ritual you meant to do, or the mating claim you actually did should have caused this whole possession thing." She paused, before adding as an afterthought, "Or Spike's chip to fail. Maybe the two are connected somehow?"

"I'll talk to Giles about it," Buffy nodded thoughtfully. "If we can find out what went wrong, then maybe we can fix it. Figure out what this thing is and where it came from, and get it out of me…" Her expression darkened, her eyes and mouth becoming hard in a true Slayer glare as she finished with determination in her voice.

"So I can kill it."

Joyce nodded slowly, completely understanding her daughter's anger. If this sinister thing wreaking havoc in her baby's life and abusing her surrogate son was not actually inside her baby at the moment – and if she had the Slayer-strength her daughter did to actually kill a demon – Joyce would have taken it on herself, whatever it was.

But there was more than that that Buffy had to deal with; the conversation was far from over, as far as Joyce was concerned.

"And until you do?" she prompted Buffy softly, catching her gaze with a searching look, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Buffy's eyes widened as she took in what her mother was asking – and realized that once again, she had no idea. She looked away, thinking it through carefully, while her mother patiently waited. She remembered her thoughts earlier, during her conversation with Dawn, about how she had spent next to no time actually getting to know Spike – about how hurt and lonely he must feel because of the way she was treating him.

"Well," she began slowly, thinking it out as she went along, "Because of the claim – Spike and I are drawn to each other. And I mean really drawn to each other," she clarified grimly, lest her mother misunderstand. "There's no getting around that. He needs me. I think – if we spend some time together, maybe I can – I don't know…"

Get to know him better…try to make it up to him…

"…figure out what's causing me to go off like I do…find out a way to control it maybe?"

Joyce frowned, her disapproval for that idea clear on her face. "And at what cost, Buffy?" she asked. "Think about that for a second. How are you going to figure out specifically what sets these violent fits off – without actually…setting…them…off?"

Buffy's eyes widened; she had not quite thought of that.

Joyce shook her head, taking advantage of the silence to assert her own authority. "No," she declared. "No, Buffy, you don't need to take chances like that with his life. Anything could set you off. Until we figure out how to fix this, you two need to be separated."

The sudden flow of defensive rage that began to course through Buffy took her by surprise, as her eyes shot up to her mother's, blazing with defiant fire – but she said nothing.

Joyce stood her ground, though she realized that she was walking into a dangerous area with her words. "Buffy, you know it's true," she said. "You need to go back to school – and Spike can stay here. You don't need to be with him right now."

Buffy glared at her mother silently for another moment, and Joyce could actually see her eyes darken with an unnatural rage at the woman's intention to separate her from her mate. For a moment, she was actually afraid that her daughter might strike her – so much so, in fact, that when Buffy moved suddenly, she flinched slightly.

But the Slayer did not move to strike a blow; before Joyce knew what had happened, Buffy had shot past her, out the bedroom door, heading down the stairs. Realizing suddenly with dismay what was happening, Joyce hurried after her.

"Buffy!" she called in a shaking, warning voice as she rushed down the stairs after her daughter, almost falling in her haste. "Buffy!"

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Buffy was standing beside the sofa, grabbing Spike's arm in a grip that had to be painful as she yanked him up from his seat beside Dawn, where the two of them had been innocently talking, completely unsuspecting of the danger that was building upstairs all the while.

"Buffy," Spike said softly in a clear effort to soothe her, his eyes searching hers, wide with the effort to keep his expression calm, but full of trepidation. "Buffy, love – what is it…?"

"Shut up," she snapped. "We're leaving, now. Come on."

He had no choice but to go with her, his mind racing as he tried to fathom what might have happened to set her off this time, what he had done to earn her wrath from clear across the house. But when they reached the front door, he began to put the pieces together – to realize that for once, maybe this was not about him or anything he had done.

Joyce stood in the doorway, her hands on either side of the doorjamb, her feet planted firmly, glaring at her daughter through eyes that were fearful yet utterly determined – not to be moved. Spike's heart sank, as he felt the violent surge of rage that rose up in the Slayer at the next words her mother spoke.

"Buffy Anne Summers – I swear on my life I am not letting you take Spike out of this house."


	36. Chapter 36

The Slayer's eyes widened in surprise at the older woman's emphatic declaration, taking in her firm stance in the doorway, the determination in her face that said that there was no way she was going to allow Buffy to get Spike alone and at her mercy – not while she was standing and able to attempt to prevent it. Then, those glittering green eyes narrowed in menacing anger.

The Slayer had other ideas.

"Do you really think that you can stop me?" she asked in a soft, low voice that to Joyce Summers, only vaguely resembled the voice of her daughter. Deceptively calm, yet full of a terrible threat, that voice continued, "Because I think it'd be very interesting to see you try."

"Mommy?" Dawn's timid, trembling voice from where she stood near the stairs drew Spike's attention for a moment. The girl was staring with wild, panicked eyes between her mother and her sister, edging nearer, then drawing back, unsure of what was going on or what to do to stop it.

Spike was very sure that there was nothing the child could do. A sense of alarm came over him as he began to realize how very badly this situation could go. There was no trace of the sensitive, caring girl in Buffy's eyes at the moment; she was not in control at all. He knew that she would be horrified when she returned to herself if she had hurt her mother while under the influence of this – this thing. She would never forgive herself.

And neither would Spike.

"Buffy," he said softly, his voice trembling with fear that he tried to conceal. "Buffy, please…let's just wait and…"

His words were cut off in a stifled yelp of pain as Buffy's free hand – the one that was not already holding his arm in a painful viselike grip – fisted in his hair and yanked his head back, hard.

She leaned in very close to his ear, a cold smile on her lips as she spoke softly, with false patience. "Didn't I just tell you to shut up, Baby?"

Her voice was dripping with menace, and he could feel the fury rolling off her, knew that he was going to pay for his disobedience, later, once they were alone. Because there was no way the Slayer was going to lose this little battle of wills, he realized with a sinking heart. She was simply too powerful. Despite Joyce's concern and good intentions, there was no way she could hope to keep her daughter from doing whatever she wanted to do.

The best he could hope for was to get himself and Buffy out of here without any harm coming to Joyce or Dawn.

He nodded quickly, as best he could, his breath coming shallow and ragged as she jerked harder on his hair. His scalp felt as if it was on fire.

"Then don't you think you'd better do it?" she continued in a patronizing near-whisper, her eyes wide and innocent, but brimming with malice.

"Buffy!" Joyce gasped in horror. "Stop it, let him go!"

He nodded again, his eyes closed, swallowing hard – his mind racing trying to come up with some way out of this situation. He wanted to tell Joyce to let it go – though he knew her well enough to know that there was no way that she would. And to attempt to talk again, now – well, it would be sheer suicide.

And there was no telling how the unstable Slayer would react if she accidentally killed her vampire "possession" – or who would fall victim to the rage that would certainly consume her when she realized that she had.

At his submissive response to her threatening words, Buffy smiled coldly in satisfaction as she released her grip on his hair, still holding onto his arm in a controlling way as she turned to face her mother completely.

Joyce stared at her, aghast at her actions, but seemingly unafraid for herself, as Buffy moved in closer to her in an attempt to intimidate her mother, eyes narrowed over a small, predatory sort of smile.

"Get out of my way," she ordered softly.

Joyce was silent for a moment, taking in the utterly changed countenance of her daughter with sorrowful, bewildered eyes, before her jaw set and she shook her head slowly. "Buffy," she began quietly, a resignation in her eyes that said she was willing to face whatever consequences might come from her next words. "I won't. I can't let you do this, Sweetheart. I love you. But I can't let you do this."

The cruel sneer that twisted the Slayer's pretty features at those words was hurtful to the older woman, who could not repress a slight wince, as she reminded herself again and again in her mind, It's not really Buffy – it's not her, it's whatever's controlling her – not Buffy…

"Buffy – Buffy please stop!" Dawn's shrill, childish voice pleaded from the stairs, edging a step or two closer uncertainly.

Behind Buffy, Spike emphatically held up his free hand, without turning to look at the child – and she stopped her advance in an uncharacteristically obedient move, much to the vampire's relief. In this frame of mind, he knew that Buffy would not hesitate to hurt her little sister if she got in her way.

Buffy edged even closer to her mother, and Spike winced slightly as in her anger, she unconsciously tightened her grip on his arm, pulling him forward with her.

"I'll say it one more time," she said in a dangerously low, quiet voice. "Get out of my way."

Anger flashed in Joyce's defiant eyes at the tone her daughter was using with her. Possessed or not, it did not make the utter disrespect, the menace in Buffy's tone any easier to hear. She stood up a bit straighter in the doorway, planting her feet more firmly, and met her daughter's gaze head-on.

"Buffy," she said with a quiet certainty. "No."

The thing wearing Buffy's face smiled maliciously. "Fine," she replied in a tight, angry voice, releasing her grip on Spike with a little shove that sent him back a few steps as she closed the slight remaining distance between herself and her mother – and drew back her fist to strike.

In the next moment, time slowed to a crawl for all but the Slayer, as the shock of what was about to happen assaulted their minds.

Joyce's eyes widened in disbelieving understanding, as she realized that her daughter was about to strike her – but she did not yield. She stood her ground, unwilling despite the very real danger that was suddenly coming to pass, to allow her daughter to make Spike her victim yet again. Her body tensed in anticipation, and she flinched slightly at her daughter's raised fist – but she did not move.

Dawn moved forward without thought for her own safety, though she was too far away to reach them in time to do anything – not that she could have done much, anyway. She was still quite a bit shorter than Buffy, and no match for her strength.

The only one close enough to do anything was Spike. And in that moment, the threat to his own safety did not matter. All he knew was that he could not let Joyce be hurt for him. In her current state, Buffy was probably not considering the strength she possessed, great enough to stun a super-human being with a single blow…

…or to kill a human.

Spike knew very well that a single, powerful blow from Buffy's hand could do enough damage to Joyce's head to kill the courageous woman – and he simply could not let that happen, regardless of the consequences to himself.

Acting on instinct, not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he rushed forward, grabbing Buffy's arm and spinning her around to face him, simultaneously raising his own fist and smashing it down across her face, not sparing his strength. He did not want to really hurt Buffy, even now – but if he knocked her unconscious at this point, it would be a good thing, he thought grimly.

She was the Slayer – she could take it.

Not unconscious, but dazed and stunned by the unexpected blow, Buffy jerked out of his grip, stumbling back a step or two – away from the door, away from her mother. Spike now stood between her and the woman she would have struck moments before.

A slow burning rage began to build up in her at his unexpected act of defiance. It had not occurred to her that Spike might actually hit her. She had trusted in her claim and the threat of physical harm to keep him from attempting anything of that nature. What she had failed to remember was that now, with the chip not working, and no specific order to prevent it, he was free to fight her.

Until she made him otherwise.

A cruel smile came over her lips, as she raised one hand to wipe the blood away from her mouth, slowly advancing toward him.

"Buffy," he said in a quiet, intense, imploring voice. "Buffy, think! This is your mother. You don't want to hurt her, love! You'll bloody well know that in just a few minutes and the very moment you realize what you've done you're gonna…"

"Silence."

He immediately obeyed, recognizing subconsciously the difference in her tone. This was a claimant's command, not to be disregarded. As she reached him, slowly stretching a hand toward him, he reflexively jerked back in alarm before she lunged toward him, gripping his arm and yanking him back toward her, her eyes glittering hard and angry.

He wisely did not resist her, preferring not to move by his own choice, rather than by her command – as the Slayer's deceptively gentle hand rose to caress his cheek in a striking contrast of tenderness, trailing slowly down to slide around the back of his neck in a possessive, dominating gesture.

"Do you have any idea," she said in a soft, affectionate tone that was a chilling contrast to her words. "what I'm going to do to you?"

At the moment – Spike was pretty sure he did.

He swallowed hard, releasing a soft gasp of dread and anticipation as her hand at his neck suddenly gripped his hair and yanked his head back in a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. The mark on his throat burned with an intensity of longing that was overwhelming, and he arched his head back into her hand, silently pleading – though he knew that when she did what he was aching, yearning for, it would be a punishment rather than a pleasure.

Still, something in her called to him, and he could not help but respond.

In an instant, without a moment to prepare or even think of defending himself, Spike felt her teeth viciously tear into his flesh, and his entire body went rigid as he let out a strangled cry of pain and – and something much deeper, some emotion that defied any definition.

She eased up for a moment before biting down harder, drawing his blood forcefully into her mouth, swallowing the cool fluid down, as her hard, punishing hands clutched him closer to her. Spike felt weakness stealing over him, a mixture of pain, blood loss, and the simple power of her claim – and the world around him became hazy and dim as he sank to his knees on the floor, his claimant sliding down with him, her teeth still clenched in his throat.

Dawn and Joyce both stood where they were, frozen by a combination of the shock of the offense Buffy had come so near to committing, and a mesmerized sense of fascination at the surreal scene that was playing itself out before them. The two super-human beings were playing out a primal connection that seemed -- was -- far beyond them, and something in them recognized that they were powerless to intervene.

Weren't they?

Joyce tore her horrified, fascinated gaze from her daughter and the vampire when she saw movement out of her corner of her eye – Dawn, heading slowly but certainly toward the pair.

"Dawnie," she gasped weakly, shaking her head, afraid to speak louder for fear of disturbing the violent creature within her daughter – afraid that what was happening was far beyond anyone's control, and possibly could not be stopped at all – but most of all, afraid of what was going to happen in the next moment, as her younger daughter edged closer and closer to her older daughter, her small trembling hand outstretched toward her.

"Dawn," Joyce said, her voice a bit stronger, urgent, but still soft. "Dawn – don't…"

It was as if Dawn was pulled, drawn toward Buffy and Spike by some unseen force. She did not acknowledge – possibly did not even hear – her mother's voice, as she closed the gap between herself and the Slayer, standing over them for a moment, staring down at them blankly.

Then, her hand reached out, hovering a breath away from her sister's arm, scarcely daring to touch her – yet compelled to.

"Buffy…" she whispered, at the moment of contact...

And suddenly…Buffy's eyes shot open, her mouth still closed over her claimant's mark, as she realized all at once where she was – and what she was doing.

She drew back suddenly, scrambling to her feet in a desperate backpedal, wide horrified eyes taking in the damaged flesh on the vampire's throat. With a soft little moan of protest, Spike reached out for her, trying instinctively to pull her back to him; but he was badly weakened by the encounter, and collapsed forward onto his hands as Buffy drew back, shaking her head in dismay as she remembered what had just happened.

Everything that had just happened.

Her eyes moved from the broken, kneeling creature at her feet – to the stricken expression of hurt and betrayal in her mother's eyes – to the strangely serene look on the guileless face of her little sister.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, her eyes welling with tears, shaking her head in denial of the truth as she pulled back from Dawn's gentle hand. "No – oh, God, no…" Her gaze fell on Joyce again, and she moved quickly toward her on shaking legs, her hands out in supplication.

"Mom – Mom, I'm so sorry…" she pleaded in a trembling voice that was almost a sob. "Mom…"

Joyce moved to take her daughter into her arms, not really blaming her, aware that she had not been in control of her actions and prepared even now to offer her the comfort that she needed.

But not before Buffy saw the flash of fear and anger that passed over her face before she could drive it back.

Buffy backed away again, the tears in her eyes falling to stain her cheeks. "I – I have to go," she whispered. "Mom, you're right – I can't be here – I have to go…"

"Buffy?" Joyce's voice held concern, and a note of alarm, wondering where it was her daughter intended to go. In this emotional, guilt-stricken state of mind that had suddenly overcome her, Slayer or not, Buffy's safety would be an issue.

Buffy recognized the motherly worry in her voice – and it only made her hate herself more. She did not deserve the compassion and concern she heard there. She was the villain of this piece, not the victim, she thought with bitter self-disgust. She needed to get out of here, like her mother had said, before she hurt someone.

Worse than she already had.

She looked down at Spike who was staring up at her in confusion as the haze slowly faded from his eyes. "B-buffy?" he whispered breathlessly, uncertainty in his voice.

She could hear the need, the desperation in his voice – emotions that she had thoughtlessly awakened in him, and now had to leave unfulfilled. She crouched down before him, accepting the sharp pain she felt as no less than she deserved, when he flinched as if expecting a blow.

"Spike," she whispered, a gentle hand stroking his cheek and drawing his eyes back to meet hers. "Spike – I need to go. I can't be with you right now. I – I'm trying not to, but – but all I do is hurt you, and – and I need to go."

The alarm he felt at her words, her plan to leave him, even with two people he loved as much as he loved Dawn and Joyce, was greater than any fear that she might harm him. He needed her, desperately – longed to be close to her – and for some reason, at this moment, the thought of separation left a deep, empty ache in the pit of his stomach.

"Buffy," he whispered. "No…you don't have to…"

"Yes, I do," she interrupted firmly, tears still streaming from her eyes as she studied his face, hoping to make him understand.

He did understand – but that did not make it any easier. "I…" he whispered in a voice that shook slightly, thick and hoarse with emotion. "I need you, Buffy – I need to be – with you…"

Buffy closed her eyes against the hurt, the plea she saw in his wide crystal blue eyes, lowering her head and breathing hard, as she fought the desire she had to give in, to just take him by the hand and lead him out of here – now, while her mother was too stunned to stop her – while she could without hurting anyone…

Anyone but Spike.

"No you don't," she argued softly. "You need to stay here, where you're safe. I'll – I'll be back. I'm not sure – when, but – I'm gonna call in the morning. We'll figure something out. I…" She hesitated, before stating simply the sum of all her useless words, attempts to explain.

"I just can't hurt you anymore, Spike. I can't."

He lowered his eyes, but not before she saw the tears welling in them. He nodded slowly, silently, not trusting himself to speak.

Buffy did not know what to say – but she knew that she could not leave him like this. Before he could react, before either of them knew what she was doing, she had reacted on instinct, lowering her mouth to her mark again.

Joyce gasped in dismay and fear – but the expression on Spike's face, as a low moan escaped his lips, was nothing even resembling fear or pain, as the Slayer slowly, tenderly, lavished the injured spot with kisses, laving the wound with her tongue, her lips, sending a sensation of intense pleasure that was yet soft and soothing all through him, as she did what she could to undo the pain she had caused him.

As she drew back, he whimpered slightly with longing for more, realizing with some surprise that the pain had ceased, the livid redness that had remained on the spot since even before this most recent attack – vanished.

She did not draw completely away, covering his mouth with her own in a tender, intimate kiss which he hungrily returned, before she finally, slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes with tenderness and affection.

"You're still mine," she whispered, and the seemingly odd choice of words was exactly what he needed to hear. "I'm not leaving you. I'll never leave you," she assured him, and he knew that she was telling him the truth.

She rose to her feet, turning her attention to her mother, her eyes downcast as she slowly approached her again. "Mom," she said, her voice still soft and with a pleading note, but steadier now than it had been. "You're right. I have to go."

Joyce frowned with concern, reaching forward to place her hands on Buffy's arms. "Buffy –are you going to be…?"

"I'll be fine, Mom," Buffy assured her with a forced but firm smile. "I'm just going to the dorm. I'll just – think for a while. Maybe finally come all the way clean with my best friend," she added with a little grimace at where her dishonesty had led her. She forced a light tone, to solidify the effect that she was going to be okay, as she shrugged and added, "There'll probably be ice cream involved."

She cringed inwardly at the flippant words, in the wake of what she had done – but she had to convince her mother that she was going to be all right. She had to get away, now, while she still wanted to – before she could do any more damage.

Either her ruse worked, or Joyce just understood the necessity of Buffy's going through with the determination she had made to get away, because after a long, firm hug, and a few whispered words of forgiveness, love, and reassurance – Joyce let her go.

They all knew that for the moment – it was how it had to be.


	37. Chapter 37

"Spike? Are you okay?"

Dawn's small, trembling voice sounded distant and hollow to the blonde vampire as he physically felt the increasing distance that separated him from his claimant. The weakness that had come over him when Buffy had drunk from him was now nearly overwhelming, as he felt himself wobbling, losing his balance even on his knees, until he fell forward, bracing himself on one unsteady hand.

"Mom!" Dawn cried out in alarm. The trance that had led her to her sister's side seemed to be broken, and she was once again nothing more than a frightened little girl, afraid and uncertain and wanting her mother to make it all better.

Joyce raised distracted eyes from their focal point on the floor, looking up at Dawn – and then her eyes widened as she was pulled from her shock to deal with the situation at hand – her badly shaken, apparently injured friend.

In an instant she was at Spike's side, kneeling beside him and pulling him up to lean his weight against her. She was alarmed at how heavily he leaned against her, allowing her to almost fully support him, as much as she was by the distant look in his listless eyes, drifting open and shut again as he seemed on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Blood!" Joyce said suddenly, looking up at Dawn. "He needs blood, she nearly drained him! There should be some in the back of the refrigerator."

Dawn immediately rushed to obey, concern for her friend hastening her steps as she grabbed several bags of blood that Joyce had kept in her refrigerator for Spike's frequent visits. When she rushed back into the living room, she was surprised and dismayed to see the vampire struggling, albeit weakly, against Joyce's gentle arms.

"Let go…" he gasped as he tried uselessly to pull away from her. "Buffy…I need…Buffy…please…"

Joyce's expression was compassionate, but firm, as she held onto him with all her strength, suddenly grateful that Buffy had drained him as much as she had. Had Spike been even the slightest bit stronger at the moment, there would be no way that she would have the strength to restrain him – and she had no intention of allowing him to follow after her daughter, as he obviously wanted to do.

"No, Spike," she said firmly. "You can't go to her right now. It's too dangerous. Buffy would want you to stay here."

"But – but I need – I need her…" he whispered, eyes closed, pulling harder against her, barely coherent in his nearly feverish desire for Buffy. "I need – to – let me go…"

"You need this," Joyce informed him in a stern, motherly tone that left no room for argument, as she took one of the bags from Dawn's hand.

Dawn had opened a corner already with a pair of scissors, and though it was cold and unappetizing, the scent still drew Spike's attention. As drained as he was, he instinctively knew that he needed it – if he was going to get strong enough to escape Joyce's hold and get to Buffy.

He drained three bags in a matter of seconds, ravenously gulping down the thick red liquid, as Joyce held him, supporting his weakened body against her. Almost immediately, he seemed more lucid, more alert and aware of what was going on around him, and the tremors of weakness that had gripped him faded away, as he slowly sat up, looking at Joyce as if seeing her for the first time.

An instant later, he had broken her grip and was on his feet – though unsteadily – and on his way to the door.

"Spike – no!" Joyce said, scrambling up from the floor and intercepting his escape, taking his arm and turning him back to face her, a bit alarmed when the sudden motion nearly pulled him off balance.

The blood had yet to cure him of all of the effects of his claimant's bite.

"No," she reiterated softly, holding his gaze with a deep, penetrating look. "You need to stay here, where it's safe, Honey. You don't need to be around her – not until she's found a way to control this – this thing."

He stared at her blankly for a moment, his mind trying to process her words over the shouting voice in his head that repeated over and over that he had to get to Buffy -- now! Understanding began to dawn in his wide blue eyes, and he hesitated, uncertain – but his gaze turned back toward the door with longing.

"She'll only hurt you again if you're with her right now, Spike. You need to give her time to figure this out."

No – I need her – have to be with her now – I need Buffy…

He looked back at her, a troubled expression in his eyes, as he raised his free hand and gently but firmly caught her wrist, exerting slight pressure until she was forced to relinquish her grip, but without any pain.

"Doesn't matter," he said with a sad sort of smile and a little shrug. "Need her. And she needs me."

Joyce watched in helpless dismay, realizing that although Spike would never hurt her, she was not strong enough to keep him from going to Buffy – even if he was going to his own death. And after the display of violence from her daughter that she had just witnessed, she knew that that was a definite possibility if Spike should put himself in Buffy's hands just now.

"Spike," Dawn's small, trembling voice called out, on the edge of panic, as she saw what he was about to do and headed toward the door.

Her small, warm hand came to rest on his arm, and he turned to face her, a startled look in his eyes as he stared at the point of contact for a long moment, before raising widened eyes to study hers, a silent question in his gaze.

"You can't," she whispered earnestly, and the sincere fear in her voice – for him – nearly broke his heart. "Please – don't let her hurt you again. Don't go. If she needs you – what's gonna happen to her if she loses control and – and kills you, Spike? You can't go!"

He had to acknowledge the truth of her words, even through the powerful sensation, defying description, that coursed through him at her touch. He had been too lost in what was happening between him and Buffy to realize what it was that had stopped the Slayer's assault before – but now, he vaguely remembered Dawn's approach…the fear he had felt that Buffy might harm her little sister, though he had been powerless to do anything about it…

And suddenly – he began to wonder about the seemingly helpless, innocent child before him.

"Besides," Dawn added with a half-apologetic little smile and a shrug, her voice soft. "It's daylight."

Spike and Joyce both stared at the door for a long moment in shock, and that at each other, eyes wide with grim realization. Neither of them had even thought of that, Joyce in her terrible fear of the danger her own daughter posed to the vampire, and Spike in his desperation to get to Buffy.

It was disturbing to think, now, how near Buffy had come to actually killing him, albeit accidentally. In her possessive rage, her desire to get him as far as possible from the woman who had wanted to separate her from him, Buffy had not even considered the deadly sunlight she was about to take him into.

But then – neither had he, he acknowledged. The power of the claim had drawn him to her with such a strength that he had nearly committed a quite accidental suicide. He had been so intent on getting to Buffy that, had Dawn not stopped him, he would have walked right out into the sunlight – and to his own death.

But – why hadn't he?

He glanced down again at the small hand on his arm, wondering at the sudden sensation of peace that had come over him. He still wanted Buffy – craved her – but the desperation that had fueled his doomed attempt at escape had vanished. He could see the reason of Dawn's words, and felt his rampant emotions soothed, softened somewhat, by the simple touch of her hand.

He looked up into her eyes, his head tilting slightly to the side, and his own eyes narrowing slightly with wonder, bordering on suspicion -- although without fear. He suspected that the girl might be more than she seemed – but he had no thought that she might be dangerous or sinister.

His voice was soft, almost awed, as he spoke slowly, "How did you…?" His voice trailed off, his head shaking slightly, as he found that he had no words for the feeling that she had given him.

Her own eyes clouded with confusion, as she looked away, a bit taken aback by the question. After a moment's consideration, she shook her head too, replying, "I – I don't know…"

Joyce frowned, unaware of what Spike had felt, seeing only that somehow, her youngest had managed to calm Spike, and hopefully, to make him abandon his plan to go after Buffy – at least for the moment. Her mind played over the events of the past couple of hours, remembering how Dawn had had a similar effect on Buffy. It was just another thing that she would have to remember to ask Mr. Giles to look into.

That is – if he was still breathing when she got through with him.

She planned on having a very serious conversation with Buffy's Watcher, first thing in the morning. From what she was hearing, the domination ritual had not been Buffy's idea to begin with; it was something that she had been led to believe was necessary, and it had led to an extremely permanent, extremely dangerous conclusion.

As far as Joyce was concerned, someone had some serious explaining to do.

The "someone" in question was currently in the middle of a busy little rush at his shop across town, and did not notice the Slayer's entrance until she was face to face with him. She was standing so near, and her expression was so solemn and determined, that he jumped back a bit, startled and a bit unsettled.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed with relief. "You frightened me..." He paused, taking in her expression with a frown of concern. "Is – everything all right?"

"No, Giles," Buffy replied immediately in a tired, heavy voice. "Nothing is all right. I need to talk to you."

"Yes – yes of course, Buffy – if you'd just give me a few minutes," he said, a bit distractedly, as he looked away from her to finish wrapping the purchase of the customer in front of him.

"I may not have a few minutes," Buffy countered in a short, clipped tone. "I need to talk to you now -- before someone gets hurt."

The customer gave her a look of alarm at her odd, unsettling words, and Giles cleared his throat a bit uncomfortably. "Er – yes, Buffy, of course…if you'd just go in the back please – I'll be right there."

He hurriedly finished wrapping the package, accepting the customer's money with a slightly awkward polite smile, before relinquishing the register to Anya's very capable hands and heading toward the back room, wondering anxiously what new trouble had arisen that was so very urgent.

He had had little success so far in figuring out what could have happened to Buffy during the ritual, and therefore how to undo it. It just seemed as if something just didn't fit – some vital piece of information was missing…

When he entered the training room, carefully closing the door behind him, he turned to face his Slayer – whose back was turned halfway to him, her eyes downcast, her profile pensive and troubled.

"Buffy?" he said slowly, cautiously, having no need for any further question.

She was silent for a long moment, nervously fidgeting with something in front of her, before she spoke softly without looking up or turning around. "I'm dangerous, Giles. We have to figure this out – right away – or I'm gonna end up hurting someone." She paused, swallowing hard, before admitting, "I already have."

Giles' eyes widened in alarm as he stepped toward her. "Buffy – what happened? Who…"

"Spike." She spoke his name incredulously, as if that should have been obvious to her Watcher, giving him a sharp sideways look.

His obvious relief irritated her, as he visibly relaxed and said, "Oh, yes…that's right, you told me – but – then – you've harmed no one else? No one – human?"

Buffy's jaw set in anger that she tried to repress; the fact that Spike was not human no longer seemed to matter so much to her. Maybe it was just an effect of the mating claim that made her view him as someone whose pain mattered – was important to her – but Giles' clear disregard for what happened to him was infuriating.

She pressed the anger back, however, and offered through gritted teeth the information that she knew would be more likely to secure her Watcher's help.

"I almost hit my mother tonight, Giles."

The Watcher's involuntary gasp made her lower her gaze again. "Buffy – is she – is she all right?"

"I said 'almost', Giles." Buffy was silent for a long moment before continuing in a quiet, heavy voice, "She tried to get between me and Spike. She tried to stop me from hurting him. And – and I…" Her voice trailed off, as she fought for the courage to continue. Suddenly she looked up at her Watcher, an intense urgency in her eyes.

"I could have killed her, Giles. I was completely out of control, and I almost hit her with my full strength, and – and I could have killed her."

The Watcher was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in a tone of shock and anxious helplessness. "I – I haven't found anything yet, Buffy. I don't know…"

"There's a lot you don't know," she cut him off flatly. "And I need to tell you about it. I – I'm not going home tonight."

"You're returning to your dormitory?" he guessed with a nod, already sure that that was the answer. His expression was taut with mild anger, but he did not seem surprised by the fact that she had not yet told him the entire truth of the matter.

"I – was kind of hoping to stay here," she corrected him, looking away again, still fidgeting with the unseen object in her hand.

Giles was surprised. "Whatever for, Buffy? We can stay here as late as you need to, of course – to go over…whatever it is you've withheld from me…but don't you think you'd be more comfortable in your dorm room to sleep?"

She nodded slowly. "I know I would," she admitted. "The only problem is…" She stepped slightly to the side, revealing to her Watcher the object she had been turning over in her hand – the set of iron manacles attached to the wall in front of her. "…my dorm room doesn't have these." Her lips quirked upward in a slight smirk. "I don't think they're allowed," she quipped, though there was little life to her humor at the moment.

She looked up at Giles through serious, troubled eyes, and he was stunned to see the depths of guilt and fear that resided there as she spoke her fears and intentions.

"I don't trust myself, Giles. Sooner or later, I'm gonna lose control, and I'm not gonna get it back before it's too late. I need to stay here tonight – and I need you to chain me up."


	38. Chapter 38

Buffy visibly relaxed a little as she felt the cool metal lock around her wrists, and Giles realized with alarm just how frightened she must be of her own potential for violence, that she felt relieved at the thought of being restrained.

She pulled experimentally on the chains that held her wrists down near her sides. Attached to the wall about three feet from the floor, and extending about two feet outward, they allowed her enough room to sit, or even lie down, to be reasonably comfortable for the night.

And yet, they were magically enhanced, designed to be strong enough to hold anything of supernatural origin that they might come across that was dangerous and needed to be restrained, but for whatever reason, could not be simply slain.

At the moment – she fit the bill.

Satisfied that the chains would restrain her should she lose control again, Buffy faced her Watcher with a sigh and a grim nod of satisfaction. She frowned at the expression on his face as he silently moved a wooden chair across the room and placed it near her so that she could sit down.

It was obvious to her that the sight of his Slayer in chains like this made him uneasy, even though she was only a prisoner by her own choice. But she knew that the dark mood her Watcher had slipped into was not only because of that. True, there were many things about this situation, even what little of it Giles already knew, that were extremely troubling – but that did not explain the unexpected anger she had seen in his eyes.

Silence filled the room as he brought a second chair and set it down facing her, before taking a seat and looking her in the eye without a word, quietly expectant of her explanation. The anger seemed to have quickly faded from his eyes, leaving only a weary sort of disappointment.

That was so much worse.

"What?" she finally demanded in a defensive tone, her eyes welling with unexpected tears. "Why are you mad at me? You shouldn't be mad at me yet! I haven't even told you why you should be mad at me at all!" She realized that she sounded petulant and childish and that her argument did not make much sense.

She didn't care.

"I'm not angry with you, Buffy," Giles sighed, relenting a bit already.

He never could stand to see her hurting or in tears. It awakened a protective fatherly instinct within him – a feeling that he had never been able to drive back, no matter how hard he had tried – even when it cost him his official position as a Watcher.

"It's just that if you'd only told me what you were dealing with from the beginning instead of keeping secrets -- again -- we could be much closer already to finding the solution."

Buffy recognized the truth of his words, but also knew that this entire situation was by no means completely her fault.

"Well, if you hadn't sent me off to perform a ritual that wasn't even necessary and ended up messing up my entire life -- again -- then we wouldn't need a solution in the first place!" she retorted, both gratified and guilty when her Watcher flinched slightly at the reminder of the one time he had truly failed her – an incident which was, truth be told, never far from his own thoughts.

"Buffy," he said quietly, in a voice of carefully controlled emotion. "If you had performed the ritual as it was intended to…"

"I'm sorry."

Giles stopped talking, meeting her eyes again with a calm acceptance in his own, acknowledging that her accusation was deserved, in spite of his attempts to defend his actions. No matter how badly it hurt to hear it, he knew that now, as then, a great deal of the responsibility for what had happened lay with him.

"I'm sorry, Giles," Buffy repeated. "I shouldn't have said that. You have made that up to me in so many ways since then, and I've messed up too, and it's just not fair to even bring that whole thing into this, but…"

She took a deep breath before continuing in a quiet, shaky voice, "It's just – I'm so – frustrated, and – and scared – and I don't know what I'm gonna do to fix this. I know I messed up. But with all due respect, I don't need you telling me how when you really don't even know half of what's happened in the past few days."

Giles was silent, taking in her words for a moment and considering them, before nodding slowly. "Quite right, Buffy," he agreed with a heavy sigh, leaning back a bit in his chair, the expectant expression returning to his face. "So why don't you change that?"

Buffy looked down, taking a deep breath, bringing her chained hands around to rest in her lap as she gathered the courage to respond – to finally come completely clean with her Watcher, once and for all.

"Why don't you just – start at the beginning? What happened, from the moment we dropped you and Spike off at the mansion that night?" Giles prompted her gently. "In complete detail. Any small thing could be important to unraveling just what went wrong."

Buffy gave him a dubious look. "When you say complete detail…"

"I mean as complete as you can," Giles clarified, closing his eyes for a moment as if to shut out the offensive images her words conjured up against his will. "…without making me want to kill myself with one of the many sharp instruments conveniently at hand." A casual wave of his hand indicated her various pointy weapons here and there around the training room.

Buffy smiled in spite of herself, nodding as she drew a deep breath in preparation. Her expression became serious as her mind went over the disturbing events of the past few days, her pride rebelling at the idea of revealing the truth -- all of it – to her Watcher.

Finally, she managed to work up the courage to speak, and after a few halting hesitations, began to tell him exactly what had taken place that night in the mansion. She left out a few choice details as to specifics, but nothing that was necessary in order for him to understand the significance of what she and Spike had done.

She told him about the fight that had turned to more, and the sequence of events that had taken place – the vampire's rejected claim over her – and her mating claim, accepted by Spike.

An acceptance he probably sorely regretted now.

She could not look at Giles as she explained what had happened afterwards, when Spike had tried to leave her – but she forced herself to at least try to make him understand. She described the overwhelming desire to control and dominate the vampire, her uncontrollable rage at any small act of defiance he might commit – and the frightening threats and violence she had used to bring him further and further under her control.

When she finally finished, Giles was silent for what felt like a very long time, as he processed her words. Her curiosity almost overcame her shame, as she longed to look up at him, to see his reaction to her words.

But at the same time, it was the thought of that reaction that terrified her – hence the "almost".

When Giles finally spoke, she was startled and dismayed by his words. "If that bloody vampire hadn't attempted to initiate a mating claim in the first place…"

"No," she protested sharply, glaring up at him indignantly. "It wasn't Spike's fault!"

Giles raised his eyebrows skeptically, obviously disbelieving of her claim. "No?" he questioned. "And you would have attempted to claim him as your eternal mate if he had not attempted it first?"

"I – I don't know," Buffy stammered, looking down again, honestly unsure as to the answer to that question. "Maybe – I…"

Giles laughed then, a surprising soft, bitter sound. "Buffy," he said in a sadly gentle tone. "I highly doubt that you would have ever willingly…"

"I started the physical – um, sexual -- stuff with Spike," Buffy interrupted suddenly, blurting out the words in a rush, her downcast eyes avoiding his gaze. "I – I kissed him. In the middle of the fight."

"I may regret asking this, Buffy," Giles said in a tired voice when she paused, taking off his glasses and wiping them as he went on. "But whatever possessed…" He stopped, correcting his unfortunate wording. "Whatever made you do a thing like that? I'm assuming that you were still in control of all of your actions at that point?"

Buffy nodded with a little grimace as she thought about her answer to that question. "I – I think so – I'm not sure," she replied quietly.

The simple answer was that she had been losing, and had needed to distract him. But that did not really serve to answer his final question, the answer for which she really did not know. She had thought that she was in control at the moment – but then, why had there been such intensity, such passion, in that s ingle kiss? Why had her lips hungrily sought after his when he had eventually pulled away?

Why could she still taste that first kiss every single time that she remembered that moment?

All of that fell into the category of "information likely to drive Giles to suicide".

"I was losing," she stated simply. "I needed to distract him."

"And there were no other means of – distraction – at your disposal?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, sure," Buffy shrugged as she gave her sarcastic reply. "but I try not to do things like that with guys I hardly know who also happen to be trying to kill me at the moment." She rolled her eyes at Giles' expression of shock, and added flatly, "He had me pinned. I couldn't get away. He was going to win." She paused. "The kiss distracted him enough to allow me to get the upper hand."

Giles nodded, accepting that, though it was clear that he still disapproved of her methods.

Buffy hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what to say next – and finally giving in to the truth. If she wanted Giles to be able to help her with this, she was going to have to be honest with him, no matter how embarrassing it was.

She took another deep breath before adding quickly, before she could stop herself, "And also I sort of wanted to kiss him."

Giles frowned, a bit alarmed by those words, trying to understand exactly what it was that she was saying. "So you think – you may have been possessed by whatever this is that early on?"

She shook her head uncertainly; she was just figuring it all out for herself as she went along.

"No – I don't think that's right – because – at the start – it wasn't so – so violent. I didn't want to hurt him. And I didn't seem to be forced to do anything; I was still in control. I just…" She felt the heat of a fiery blush rise to her cheeks, looking away, as she made herself continued, "I just -- wanted him."

She was silent then, glancing sideways at her Watcher to make sure he understood what she was saying; his only slightly uncomfortable nod indicated that he did.

"It's so weird, Giles," she whispered, shaking her head slowly as she looked away again. "I really don't even know how to explain it. Sometimes – it feels like…" She paused, struggling to put the feelings into words. "I'm split into three parts in here. There's this – jealous, possessive freak who can't stand the thought of anyone trying to take Spike away, or – or his defying me – and just loses it if I think either of those things are happening…"

Giles nodded silent encouragement, noting the information that Buffy had previously withheld in her statement – the apparent trigger for her violent, out-of-control behavior – and waited for her to say more.

"Then – there's the second part of me – the part that still sees him as mine, I guess because of the mating claim – and wants him to be mind, but – but that part of me is totally horrified by the fact that I'm hurting him – that part of me wants to protect him and take care of him – gets furious when someone else tries to hurt him…"

She fell silent again for a moment, as they both remembered the scene in the store just the night before, when she had attacked Xander when he had been about to hit Spike.

"And then," she finished in a soft, subdued sort of voice. "there's the third me. Me me. The one that's just confused and frustrated and – and guilty, and has absolutely no freaking clue what is going on here – but can't seem to do anything to stop it."

Giles was quiet for a moment, considering all that she had said, before he reminded her gently, "But Buffy – you must remember – the only one that is truly you, under your own power and with your own true feelings, is the third one. The first is clearly whatever entity has been controlling you, and the second is the feelings that have been created by the mating claim. You are only truly responsible for the actions of the third, as it is the only one that is truly you."

Buffy frowned thoughtfully; somehow, as welcome as that thought was – it did not ring true to her. She knew that, if for no other reason than that she had allowed it to continue this long, without taking the measures she had just taken to control it – she was responsible for the pain that Spike had been forced to endure at -- her hands.

And the tender, affectionate emotions she felt for him, did not feel like some fake, manufactured feelings; they felt completely and totally real to her. Even while under Willow's will-be-done spell, although she had been thoroughly convinced that she was in love with Spike and he was going to be hers forever, and that was how it was supposed to be – she had still had the vague niggling sense that something was not right.

The feelings she felt for him now felt true and genuine. She knew beyond all doubt that he was hers, and would be forever, hers to cherish and care for and treasure – and that thought filled her with a deep sense of security and happiness like nothing had made her feel for a very long time.

No – these did not seem one bit like "fake" feelings.

"See – that's the thing, Giles," she said slowly, dawning realization in her eyes, before looking up to meet his gaze with wonder and slight bewilderment. "It feels like it is me – all the time. Even when I don't like what I'm doing after the fact – while I'm doing it, I know what I'm doing. I make the decision to do it."

"But – you said it was beyond your control…" The Watcher frowned in confusion, not liking the sound of this at all.

"I know," Buffy continued, frustration evident in her voice. "And it is – I think – I don't know. It's so confusing, Giles, I don't know of any better way to explain it. But – but I think it is me – in a way…I just don't know…"

Giles was quiet, trying to understand the very difficult concept she was trying to express. "Perhaps…" he speculated softly. "…something is – infecting your emotions? Causing you to feel things that you would not normally feel? Not an actual entity inhabiting you?"

"Maybe," Buffy shrugged helplessly, discouraged. "I don't know."

She glanced up at him, suddenly remembering something she had heard mentioned earlier – when she had overheard Dawn and Spike's conversation in the kitchen, in the moments before she had so brutally attacked him.

"Oh – Giles! Earlier – Spike was saying something about – since his chip has stopped working…maybe it's something to do with Will's spell? Maybe something went wrong with that, and that's why the chip never started working again. And if that went wrong – then maybe that has something to do with what's happening to me!"

The Watcher nodded slowly, his eyes lighting up with hope at that suggestion. "I honestly don't know why I hadn't thought of that." He stood up, looking with sympathy at his bound and miserable Slayer, sitting dejectedly in the little wooden chair.

"We're going to find the answer, Buffy," he assured her quietly. "I promise you that."

She did not respond, not nearly as hopeful as he was about it.

"I'm going to go call Willow and have her come over so that we can examine the spell. I'll be right back," he told her, turning and heading toward the door to the store.

While she waited for him to return, Buffy wondered about the implications of her thoughts that it could really be her that was doing all this, a devastating sense of guilt coming over her at that possibility. She wondered if it was Willow's spell that had done it, and if it could therefore be undone as easily.

But most of all – she wondered if the chains that bound her would really be strong enough to control her if she flew into a rage such as she had been prone to lately.

Because although she had only been away from her vampire for a few short hours – she could feel the irresistible desire slowly building up in her again – and had no idea how long she might have before the fiercely possessive creature that had done so much damage before came out again to protest the fact that she was being denied what was rightfully hers.

As the very thought of Spike seemed to increase the desire she was feeling – she had the sinking feeling in her heart that it would not be very long at all.


	39. Chapter 39

Just as Giles was picking up the phone to call Willow, it rang under his hand, and he jumped, muttering a soft, "Bloody hell!" under his breath.

The disconcerting conversation he had just had with Buffy had left him unusually jumpy and unsettled. The violence that Buffy had described was very troubling to him, and he knew that they had to find a solution, and quickly – before someone got hurt. But it was going to be very difficult to find a solution when they really had so little understanding of what the problem was.

It was difficult for him to comprehend how Buffy could feel as if she was being controlled by some force other than herself, and still feel at the same time that the violent actions she had committed were truly her own. He could not seem to reconcile the two ideas in his mind. He hoped very much that Willow's input as to just exactly what spell she had used and how she had used it might shed some light on the entire situation.

And then, there was the other troubling issue to the whole situation, the one thing that he had been trying very hard not to think about since this whole matter had come to light the night before – the fact that his Slayer was eternally, irrevocably bound by a mating claim to an evil, soulless vampire, who currently had nothing but that claim standing between him and his next killing spree.

Buffy's dominance through the claim would keep Spike under control, and her reasonably safe, the Watcher reassured himself, as she could easily put a stop to any attempts the vampire might make to harm her, or anyone else.

Unless of course he caught her off guard – or asleep – or somehow managed to get around her commands and surprise her, not giving her time to stop him.

An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Giles wished, not for the first time, that Xander's first suggestion, of freeing Buffy from the claim by simply dusting the blonde vampire, was possible. Spike was no longer completely helpless, the way he saw it – so that was not an issue anymore; and he did not see why Buffy should have to spend the rest of her life looking after the vampire and keeping him in line.

The problem with that idea was, again, the claim itself. After witnessing the way Buffy had turned on Xander the night before, the Watcher was certain that there was no way Buffy would allow any of them to harm Spike; she was fiercely protective of the vampire, and it did not seem to matter to her who she hurt in the process of defending him.

He had momentarily considered the possibility of staking the vampire now, while Buffy was chained up and unable to defend him. It was quite possible that, if all of what Buffy was experiencing was due to the claim, if the vampire was simply dusted, its effects would be broken and she would return to normal. He could just unchain her and she could go back to her life as usual, with the added bonus of being rid of the bleached blonde annoyance that had invaded his home and all of their lives for the past few weeks.

It was also quite possible that the Slayer would lose her mind completely with grief over the loss of her eternal mate – and they would never get Buffy back.

No, Giles had decided with some regret. It was best to simply research the situation thoroughly, to find out just what exactly the problem was before attempting to solve it – which was why he really needed to speak with Willow as soon as possible.

With clear annoyance at the delay, that he absently noted was probably not good for business, he spoke curtly into the phone, "Thank you for calling the Magic Box. How may I assist you?"

"Mr. Giles?" a woman's voice asked sweetly – perhaps a little too sweetly.

He was surprised to recognize the voice of Buffy's mother on the phone – and then, suddenly very nervous, as he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, just why she would be calling him.

"Mrs. Summers!" His greeting was forcedly cheerful, as he attempted to maintain a façade of innocence. "How delightful to…"

"Mr. Giles," she interrupted him with a note of impatience in her now coolly polite voice. He heard her take a breath to speak – and then pause, before going on thoughtfully, "How can I say this nicely?" After a moment's consideration she concluded, "I can't. This is not a conversation you can have 'nicely'."

After her calmly pensive out-loud musing, it took him by surprise when she snapped, "Cut the crap."

Startled, the Watcher flinched slightly, glad that the woman was not actually there to see it. After all, although she had a reason and a right to be upset, it would not do to let her see that she had shaken him. "Excuse me, Mrs. Summers, but I don't believe…"

"Excuse me, Mr. Giles," she interrupted emphatically, a note of warning to her voice that refused to be ignored. "But I believe I was talking!"

Taken aback by her unexpected forcefulness, Giles was silent for a beat. Dreading what she would say, but having little choice, he finally replied, "Quite right, so sorry – go right ahead."

"I want to know what you did to my daughter."

Giles felt his stomach drop at the low, threatening sound to her voice, as he was reminded first of how dangerous a mother could be when her child was threatened, and secondly of the fact that not all of Buffy's fire came from the fact that she was the Slayer.

It's just Joyce Summers – she's angry, but not truly dangerous, he reminded himself. I've just got to attempt to calm her…

"Mrs. Summers, I am truly very sorry, but I assure you that Buffy is in no immediate danger. And as we speak, I am doing everything in my power to uncover the source of these – episodes – she's having, and…"

"So what you're saying is you don't have a clue." Her voice was cold and hard as stone.

Just Joyce – no need for alarm – just explain to her…

"I'm – not quite sure yet…"

"Well, you'd better get sure and right away!" Joyce interrupted him again in a tone of quiet, barely controlled righteous fury. "Because it sounds to me like what you've done is to send my baby to perform a dangerous ritual which you didn't even fully understand the requirements of – a ritual which could have ended with the complete loss of her free will, by the way – don't think I missed that part! And all to control a vampire who can't bite – can't even hit – and was at the time your prisoner in chains!"

"Mrs. Summers…"

"I'm not finished!" she snarled, and he cringed in spite of himself, glancing around the shop at his thankfully oblivious customers, certain that they had to be able to hear her.

But they could not. Though the anger was unmistakable in her tone, she was not actually yelling. Her voice was still low and controlled – which only made her all the more terrifying, as she went on.

"And in the process, you put my daughter in a position to allow something -- you still don't know what, because you don't seem to know much of anything useful, do you? – to take her over and endanger my entire family, and not only that but to abuse someone who can't even begin to defend himself, and in front of my fourteen-year-old daughter, by the way…"

"I'm extremely sorry that Dawn had to witness what Buffy did to Spike…"

"You should be extremely sorry that it even happened to Spike!" Joyce raised her voice slightly then, a warning sound to it that indicated that, if possible, his last words had made her even angrier than before.

"You think it doesn't matter if she hurts Spike, because he's not human? At the moment, I think he has more humanity in him than you seem to! How can you possibly justify something like this, taking a helpless creature and deliberately attempting to turn him into a virtual slave? How can you even begin to think that that's okay? And you're the man that my daughter turns to for guidance?"

"Mrs. Summers, you must understand – he's a very dangerous creature!" Giles interrupted, a bit incensed himself by her accusations. "That chip controlled him – but the moment it went down, without this claim in place, he would have been free to…"

"The chip only went down because of what you did!" Joyce snapped. "And the only thing I see that needs controlling around here is your over-inflated sense of self-importance and your unbelievable ego! That you could think that you could do something like this – just manipulate circumstances and people to suit your own desires and ideas of how things should be…"

"He's not people!" Giles nearly shouted without meaning to, frustrated beyond measure. "He's a bloody vampire!"

Joyce was stunned to silence for a moment by the audacity of his words – long enough for the Watcher to realize his careless mistake, as several customers stopped what they were doing to look at him with alarmed, disbelieving expressions.

"Giles!" Anya called much too loudly from behind the counter, her words obviously for the benefit of the customers. "That's not nice! Umpires are people too!" Immediately she turned to Xander, who had come to help for a little while and was standing beside her behind the counter, explaining in a loud whisper, but fortunately not loud enough to be heard by the customers across the room, "I said that so that they'd think he said 'umpire' when what he really said was 'vampire'. You told me you did that once, and it worked."

"Good girl, Anya," Xander said patiently but distractedly, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard her, and seeing with relief that the customers were going on about their shopping again. Either they had believed her – or had just shrugged it off as one of the many daily weirdnesses of life in Sunnydale.

Anya was so pleased at his rare words of approval that it took her a few moments to realize that he had just spoken to her as if she were a puppy.

Meanwhile, Joyce was speaking to Giles as if he were – well, something infinitely more repulsive and less deserving of cuddles than a puppy. His comment about Spike not being a person had infuriated her to her breaking point.

"Obviously you don't know anything that can help my daughter or Spike right now," she stated in a low voice of intense anger, barely restrained. "So I'll tell you what, Mr. Giles…you go do your research or whatever it is you do that makes Buffy so convinced that she needs you…" Her derisive tone said clearly that she thought otherwise. "and you better find a way to get my Buffy back! I had to work today, or this conversation would be taking place in person…"

Thank heavens she had to work today!

"…but I'm off work tomorrow, Mr. Giles," she went on in a frighteningly pleasant voice; he could almost see her menacing smile. "…and I will be in your store, and I will expect some answers…"

Who does she think she is? Giles thought with indignation born of genuine fear. Like she'd ever actually do anything to…

"…and I don't care if you think Spike matters or not. If Buffy hurts him again before you manage to undo the massive amounts of damage your ignorance and arrogance has caused, I'm going to take Spike and hide him away somewhere safe, and when that thing that you allowed to gets its claws into my daughter comes looking for him – I'll tell her you know where he is!"

Dear God.

Giles was sure his heart skipped a beat at that chilling threat. Okay – so maybe Joyce could actually hurt him, after all.

"Mrs. Summers," he said in an uncharacteristically timid voice that broke over her name in a decidedly unmanly fashion. "I can assure you that won't be necessary. I'm going to find the source of the problem…"

"I believe I've found the source of the problem, Mr. Giles," Joyce cut him off again relentlessly in a scathing tone of disgust. "You just find the solution. By tomorrow. Goodbye."

And the line went dead.

With a shaking hand, muttering British curses under his breath, Giles replaced the receiver for just a moment. He drew a deep breath to steady himself, his hand resting on the phone, before picking it up again to dial Willow's number.

They had to find the answer tonight – before Hurricane Joyce struck the next morning.

It was just past three o'clock as Willow turned the key in the door of the dorm room she shared with Buffy, just returning after her last class for the day. As she struggled against a load of books and school supplies to unlock the door, she heard the phone begin to ring inside.

Her heart leapt up into her throat, and she hurried to get the door open, dumping the books unceremoniously on the floor beside the desk and snatching up the phone.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

There was a moment's hesitation, before she heard Giles' voice. "Willow? Are you all right?"

Her heart sank with disappointment – disappointment that she should not have allowed herself, she thought with self-directed anger. She should know by now that it wouldn't be…

"I – I was just running. To get the phone. Because, you know – it could have been…"

Oz.

"…important. You know, Hellmouthy badness."

"Oh – well, yes…yes, it is, actually, Willow…of the variety we were discussing last night…"

As the Watcher began to explain what Buffy had told him, Willow felt a cold sensation of dread come over her, as her mind went back to the spell she had performed a few nights ago to disable Spike's chip. 

She had wondered when Spike's chip had not turned back on, if perhaps the spell was at the bottom of the entire situation – but had been too afraid and embarrassed to speak up about it then, reassuring herself mentally that that could not be the case – she had done everything exactly as the book told her to.

Well – with just a tiny bit of tweaking.

But – it was just to be sure that Buffy would win! she thought, desperately defending herself in her mind, as Giles told her about his and Buffy's rising doubts about the spell.

"I'm sure I did it right, Giles," she said in a small, trembling voice, feeling guilt wash over her at the almost-lie.

Okay, total lie.

"I'm sure you did, too, Willow, but spells are tricky things. There may be something that you missed when selecting the spell – something that allowed something other than what was intended to occur. Just – please bring the book with the spell in it and come to the Magic Box as soon as possible. I'm very sure that Buffy must be getting very tired of being in chains, and it would be most preferable if we could fix this and she could sleep in her own bed tonight."

"Okay," Willow agreed quietly, swallowing back a sick feeling that rose in her throat as she hung up the phone.

How had things gone so wrong? she wondered. And then – how could she wonder? she thought darkly. Things always went wrong here. This was Sunnydale, the Hellmouth – the natural habitat of "things going wrong".

Best friends rejected you for annoying snobs and ho-bag skanks – parents tried to burn you at the stake…

Werewolf-boyfriends left you for werewolf-sluts…

All part of Sunnydale's natural charm.

As she gathered up the books, a bitter resentment began to set into her mind. If something had gone wrong, it was not her fault. It had gone wrong because -- hello! – things always went wrong here! As she made her way across the campus and toward the Magic Box, she tried to determine just how much to tell the Watcher and her friends.

After all – she had only been trying to help.


	40. Chapter 40

Buffy was quite sure that she was losing her mind – or would before this was all over.

She had long since given up quietly sitting in the chair Giles had provided for her, as she seemed increasingly full of nervous energy, and was instead pacing up and down as far as the chains that held her would allow – which was only a space of about six feet. In fact, a mere moment ago she had shoved the chair rather forcefully away from her – with her foot – in irritation when it got in the way of her ever more frenetic pacing.

Giles calmly regarded the shattered pieces of the wooden chair against the far wall – thankfully the wall facing the street and not the one facing the store, which hopefully had served to make the sound less noticeable to any customers still in the store. He looked back up at Buffy silently, concern evident in his ice blue eyes.

Buffy stopped for a moment, staring at the broken piece of furniture, before turning toward her Watcher with a slightly embarrassed pout on her face. "Sorry," she muttered reluctantly.

"Buffy – I know it seems rather pointless to ask, but – are you quite all right?" the Watcher hesitated a moment before speaking the words, realizing a moment later that, yes, they did sound every bit as inane as he had imagined they would.

She gave him an incredulous glare as she snapped, "Why, yes, Giles, doing just great! Aside from the fact that I'm chained to a wall because I've been taken over by some malevolent force that just tried to make me hit my own mother! Oh yeah, and the fact that we don't have the first freakin' clue what this force is or where it came from in the first place…"

And the fact that I'm losing my mind from being away from Spike…God, I need him! Now! No! Hold on, Buffy, come on, you can do this…keep it together…

"…yeah," she muttered, her eyes downcast as she slumped backward against the wall, forcing herself to stop pacing for a few minutes. "just peachy, Giles."

"Buffy – I'm quite sorry. I realize this is difficult. I just meant that – well, if talking about it would help…"

Yes, Giles – I think I'll feel lots better once I tell you that the main problem at the moment is my overwhelming need to jump the bones of the vampire that I just claimed as my eternal mate – the vampire that I happen to beat the crap out of almost every time I see him lately – and do things to him that you probably can't even spell, if you've ever even imagined…

Giles was still staring at her with a questioning look of clueless expectancy.

She sighed wearily, leaning her head back against the wall behind her. "No," she said in a soft voice of defeat. "I'm sorry, Giles – I know you want to help – but – I really don't want to talk about it."

"Again, Buffy, I'm sorry – if you don't want to talk that's fine. You just seem a bit – nervous."

"I am not nervous!" she snapped irritably – emphasizing her point by jumping nearly out of her skin when the door suddenly opened.

She forced herself to relax again when she saw that it was Willow, but she could feel her body trembling with a mixture of the nervousness she denied, a result of the complete uncertainty of her situation – and the overwhelming desire in her to be with Spike.

She could feel a slowly building anger in her, and wondered with a very real fear how long she would be able to restrain the force inside of her. She kept reminding herself, over and over in her mind, that she was here by her own choice. She was not being kept away from Spike by anything he or anyone else had done to her. She wanted to be as far from him as possible right now.

She hoped that this line of thought would keep the possessive rage at bay – and so far, it seemed to be working.

For how long – she had no idea.

Willow stared at her for a long moment when she entered the room, her eyes widening in surprise and dismay.

"What?" Buffy demanded after a moment, feeling bad when the redhead flinched slightly.

"S-sorry, Buffy," she stammered. "I just – I knew you were – chained up – I mean – that you asked to be, but – but I just wasn't expecting to see you – well – so – chained up," she finished with an apologetic little grimace, walking further into the room and sitting in the seat Giles had provided for her, setting down an enormous stack of books on the end of the pommel horse beside her.

"Yeah, well – if you and Giles want to stay in one piece, I think it's gonna have to be this way until we can figure this out," Buffy forced herself to say – and then forced herself to calmly take a seat in a new, unbroken wooden chair that her Watcher silently brought for her.

She was sorely tempted to tell them that she was feeling fine, completely in control, and they could unchain her now – and then make her way directly to her vampire. Of course, she knew that that was not the thing to do. She could not endanger her family – or Spike -- again.

And besides, they wouldn't believe her anyway. Not now.

Giles seemed very relieved that Willow had finally arrived. "All right, so let's get right down to business, as I'm becoming quite sure that time is of the essence. Tell us about exactly what you did that night, Willow."

"Well," Willow began, sounding more than a little nervous. "The whole idea was to – to make Spike's chip stop working so that he could take part in the dominance challenge. So I used a basic, um, loosing sort of spell…to undo the chip's restraining power over him."

Giles frowned, a bit of alarm in his eyes. "A loosing spell?" he repeated. "And how could you be certain of exactly what this spell would 'loose', Willow?"

The witch gulped, her eyes wide at the barely concealed anger in the older man's voice. Okay, he was already suspicious and bordering on upset -- so not good. "No, Giles," she hurried to reassure him. "I was very specific – you guys want to see the spell I used?" Her voice sounded even more shaky and uncertain than usual as she picked up the top book in the stack beside her, glancing at Giles with wide, fearful eyes for reassurance.

The Watcher was too caught up in his own worries for his Slayer to notice her unusual demeanor, and he nodded as he replied in a tone of slight impatience, "Yes, Willow – please read it aloud for us."

With trembling hands the young witch turned the pages of the book until she found the spot she had marked earlier. She took a deep breath before beginning in a quiet, timid voice that sounded a bit strained.

"Well, after you light the candles and incense and have everything else set up, you read this incantation…it goes like this…it's in Latin, but the basic translation is…um…"

"Willow, please," Buffy interrupted impatiently. "Please just hurry. I'm not sure how much time we've got before this thing takes over completely."

Those alarming words spurred Willow on, and she nodded anxiously. "O-okay," she agreed. "It says basically, and you guys gotta realize that the translation makes it a little different, from Latin to English – 'Unleash the source of the bound warrior's power, free from restraint until it should be bound by another'."

They were all three silent for a few moments, Buffy and Giles just taking in the words she had just spoken, while Willow waited anxiously for their reactions, hoping that the other two would not be able to figure out that there was something she was not telling them.

"Unusual wording," Giles commented finally, a troubled frown on his face. "They were awfully specific. It almost sounds as if the spell were created specifically for such a situation as ours was – although I'm quite certain such a situation had never before existed."

"Oh!" Willow exclaimed, obviously very glad to have a question raised to which she knew the answer. "I read up on that before I did the spell. See? I was careful!" she assured him in a slightly defensive tone.

"See – it's actually an ancient rite that soldiers had performed over them before going into battle, to ensure that they would be at their best during the fight. It was designed to help with whatever might be holding a warrior back. Like, an injury, or maybe a strong fear that was making them freeze up under pressure, or whatever," Willow explained.

"The wording – the extra clause about 'until they're bound by another' was to keep any one warrior from gaining too much power. See, if there was no limitation placed on it, then, hypothetically speaking, they could be completely unstoppable – if nothing could 'bind' or hinder them in battle again. So they added that extra bit in so that if something else happened to hinder them – a new injury or whatever – the rite would have to be performed again. They couldn't become completely invincible."

She waited for reactions from the others, who were still silently listening to her words and processing them carefully. Uncomfortable with the silence, she explained in a quiet, anxious voice, "See – Spike was bound by the chip, so I figured the spell would free him from the chip, until he was 'bound by another' – until Buffy won the dominance ritual."

She waited a bit breathlessly, hoping that both Slayer and Watcher would completely buy her story – which was after all, mostly true. After the talking to she had received from Giles following her badly botched "will-be-done" spell, she just knew that he would be angry if he knew she had made any changes to this spell at all, even a completely harmless one like the one she had made.

"Let me see that, please, Willow," the Watcher instructed in a thoughtful tone, reaching to take the book from her hands and studying the Latin text with a pensive frown. He read it over again to himself several times before looking up at her, and although his expression was calm, the veiled anger in his eyes was still quite clear.

" 'Unleash the source of the bound warrior's power,'" he quoted softly, holding the young witch's gaze searchingly. "And Willow – did you by any chance take any measures when casting this spell to – well, to ensure that the 'warrior' affected by the spell would indeed be Spike?"

Willow looked a bit taken aback by that question, unsure how to respond, as it was really the last thing she had expected to hear. "Well – no," she admitted in a slightly defensive voice. "I didn't think that was actually necessary, considering that he was the only one in the situation who was bound or restrained in any way."

Buffy glanced anxiously between her friend and her Watcher, trying to follow the very vital conversation taking place around her, through the now-continuous thoughts that flooded her mind with images of a bleached blonde across town that she would much rather be paying attention to.

She knew that this conversation was very important, and tried to focus, turning expectant eyes to Giles as she waited for his response. Willow's reasoning so far seemed to make sense, she thought. She had certainly not been restrained in any way from fighting at her best – so why would that particular phrase of the spell have affected her so strongly?

"Willow," Giles replied, his voice still calm, but steely with anger that he was no longer trying to hide. "You must know by now that any sort of assumption whatsoever when using magic is utterly foolhardy. You didn't use – something belonging to Spike? To ensure that he would be the only one you cast the spell on?"

A slight pout rose to Willow's lips as she dropped her gaze, a bit sullenly, with embarrassment. She had thought that she had left out the part of the story that would get her into trouble. "No," she admitted in a small, quiet voice.

"And your translation is faulty as well," he pointed out impatiently. "You indicated to me that once the ritual of dominance was complete, Spike's chip should have begun to function again."

"It was supposed to…"

"No," Giles interrupted sharply. "Again, a foolish assumption on your part! The wording of the spell never says that the loosing effect would be temporary. It's the freedom of the one on which it is cast that is temporary. The loosing of the original bond – in this case Spike's chip – is quite permanent."

"But – it says the warrior would be freed from the thing that had bound them until they bound by another…" Willow began to object.

"No – it says the current bond would be removed, so that the warrior would be free – until bound by something else. The temporary state refers to their freedom. 'Until', because by necessity when something else binds the person in question, they are obviously no longer free. But nothing in the text indicates that the original binding thing would return."

"So – Spike's chip is permanently turned off, then?" Buffy ventured with a frown.

"It would seem so," Giles sighed with a weary nod.

"And – this spell apparently affected both of us – for him, it freed him from his chip – for me, it loosed – what?" Buffy was utterly confused, and increasingly terrified.

Permanent?

"I mean – I wasn't bound by anything to begin with? How can this have even happened? What has happened?"

Giles glanced at the text again. "It says specifically that what would be loosed is 'the source of the warrior's power'. For Spike, that would be his demon, which was held back by the chip."

"So – what's the source of my power?" Buffy asked in a very soft, frightened voice.

Giles stared at her for a long moment, a worried frown on his face. "That's a very good question, Buffy," he said quietly. "One that unfortunately I do not have an answer to – and frankly, I'm not sure that anyone does."

"But – if I'm the Slayer – a warrior of – of good," Buffy struggled over the concept in a trembling voice. "And – what was loosed was my power – why is it so dark, and – and – I just don't understand."

"I shall have to contact the Council…"

"No!" Buffy looked up at him in alarm. "No, I don't want them to know about this! They've tried to kill me more than once already – what do you think they'll do if they find out about this?"

"I am well aware of the risk, Buffy," Giles said, a soft sympathy in his voice as he looked at the girl who was like a daughter to him. "I would never do anything to place you in danger from them again. I shall be very discreet, I assure you."

Buffy nodded, albeit reluctantly, not wanting him to talk to the council at all, but knowing that is anyone had any additional knowledge on the source of the Slayer's power, it would be them.

"I – I'm sorry," Willow said timidly, not really looking at either of them. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. I thought it was – the right spell to use. I didn't mean to…"

"You didn't mean to last time, either, did you?" Giles snapped.

"Will," Buffy said urgently, shooting her Watcher a warning look. He merely looked away in silence as she went on, "I know you didn't mean to. It's okay. I mean – it's a mess, but – but we'll get it figured out. I know you were trying to help.

Willow was silent. Buffy was being very understanding, but the words she had really wanted to hear were noticeably absent. Buffy did not say, "It's not your fault."

Because they all knew that it was.

With a sigh, Buffy looked up at her Watcher, who was looking at her dubiously. "Do you have, like – a cot, or a sleeping bag or anything? I think I'm gonna need to spend the night here." She sighed as he nodded, adding sarcastically with a slight pout, "Judging by the Council's usual overwhelming willingness to help us – this could take a while."


	41. Chapter 41

It was after nine o'clock that evening when Joyce finally made her way back through her front door. She had had to stay late at the gallery, which did not close until eight, and then had to go by the butcher's shop to get more blood for Spike. The vampire was feeling much better, but he was still a bit weak from Buffy's savage attack that morning.

Still – Joyce had been a bit nervous about leaving him alone with Dawn.

She had felt guilty to even be concerned. Spike was her friend, and Dawn's, and she knew that it would hurt him to know that she was afraid to trust him. And she did trust him, really. She knew without a doubt that Spike would never intentionally harm her or Dawn.

But she also "knew" that Buffy would never raise a hand to her mother, either.

The claim that connected her oldest daughter to the blonde vampire was a powerful thing, and very dangerous; Joyce knew that much already. She was terribly afraid that if Spike felt the need to go to Buffy, and Dawn tried to stop him – as she certainly would – he might hurt her without even realizing that he had.

And yet, at the same time, it seemed that Dawn was the only one with the power to stop him from giving himself over to the dangerously unstable Slayer.

Joyce wondered again how it was possible – what strange inherent power allowed her youngest daughter to soothe the desperate craving that spike had for her sister, with just a simple innocent touch of her hand. Did it have something to do with the claim? Some effect because of the blood bond and because Dawn was Buffy's family? And if that was the case – then why had Joyce herself not been able to stop Spike?

Dawn had had no answers for her mother's questions. Neither of them had any idea why only she was able to calm the confused, desperate vampire.

They just knew that she was able.

When she thought about it, Joyce was certain that Spike's love for her and Dawn – which had already pushed him to defy his claimant once – in combination with Dawn's soothing power over him, would protect the girl while Joyce was at work. She simply could not stand the thought of leaving him to fall under the power of the claim again while he was alone, just to go running to the girl who would only hurt and abuse him again.

Though she had not said a word to him of her dilemma, not wanting to hurt his feelings with her involuntary suspicions, Spike had perceptively realized her concern, and had suggested quietly and sincerely that she make use of the chains that her daughter kept in the basement.

His touchingly understanding, accepting manner, and his willingness to submit to such a thing to ensure Dawn's safety, made up Joyce's mind. There was no way that Spike would ever hurt Dawn. She could safely leave him here with her daughter, of that much she was sure.

And there would be no chains, she decided. She shuddered to think of what could happen if Buffy decided to return for what was hers, to find Spike chained and at her mercy.

No, she could not leave him here alone. Bound or free, he would be helpless to the Slayer's attack without Dawn's settling influence to help to steady him.

Joyce had end up calling home several times during the first couple of hours she had been at work, anxious in spite of herself, and wanting to make sure that everything was all right. But when every time she had found that it was, she had eventually relaxed and stopped calling, going about her work.

Now, as she took in the peaceful, comfortable scene before her, she wondered why she had been worried at all.

The television was on, quiet voices punctuated with a laugh track barely breaking the stillness of the scene. It was the only light in the room, so Joyce supposed that the exhausted pair had been asleep for some time.

Spike was sprawled on the sofa, his head resting on the back of it, his face turned toward her, peaceful and relaxed in sleep. Dawn was leaning against him, her head on his shoulder and her hand firmly clasping his – also sound asleep.

Joyce smiled with affection at her daughter's clear determination to protect her friend through whatever means she could – even from himself. She wondered with a sad sort of feeling what mini-crises these two might have faced today, how difficult it might have been for Dawn to keep Spike from going to his own doom – but somehow she had managed it.

After putting Spike's blood away in the kitchen, Joyce returned to the living room to cover them with a soft throw blanket, thinking it would be best not to wake them. She knew that Spike had to maintain contact with Dawn if he was going to stay calm and avoid falling prey to his own desires – and if they were going to have to be together all night, the living room sofa was the most appropriate choice.

As far as Joyce was concerned, it was the only choice.

After checking all the doors and windows, being sure that the house was safely secured for the night, Joyce turned off the television and made her way up the stairs to her own bedroom, satisfied. Tomorrow, she would go to the Magic Box, and hopefully she had put enough of the fear of Joyce Summers into Rupert Giles to make him come up with some answers by then.

But for tonight, she was done with worry, ready to allow herself to rest, confident in the knowledge that they were safe.

As she made her way up the stairs, she did not notice as her young daughter stirred restlessly in her sleep, unconsciously turning over to rest against the sofa, facing away from the oblivious sleeping vampire – her hand slipping unnoticed from his.

Buffy was trying to go to sleep. She really was.

But apparently, the "source of her power", whatever that was, had other ideas.

She tossed and turned restlessly on the little cot that Giles had provided for her, trying to put the thoughts of her gorgeous blonde vampire across town out of her mind. She wanted him with a nearly feverish desperation, a need that was slowly consuming her from within.

She burned for him.

And you can have him, a voice whispered temptingly in her head, sounding suspiciously like her own.

She looked across the dimly lit room with longing at the keys to her chains, cruelly left just within her line of vision, on a little table across the room from her. Giles was sleeping in a sleeping bag in the store itself, the door to the training room mostly closed to allow her some privacy, but open just enough that he would hear her if she called him.

If the door was fully closed, he would not be able to hear her if she needed him, as it was semi-soundproof to disguise the sounds of her training sessions – and it would never do to have the Slayer chained up overnight in a soundproof room, where no one could hear her if something tried to attack her.

This was the Hellmouth, after all.

She was pretty sure that the keys left carelessly lying on the table had been an accident, and not, as it seemed at the moment, a deliberate attempt to torment her. She knew that there was really no chance of her getting herself free, should she lose enough control to want to.

Which was becoming a distinct possibility.

At any rate, the keys had been left far enough away from her that she would not be able to reach them without breaking her magically enhanced, unbreakable chains. And if she was able to manage a feat such as that – well, the keys themselves would be sort of a moot issue.

But as it was, the chains could only be opened with the keys, which were well out of her reach. Giles had probably not been terribly worried about where he left them, as long as she could not get to them.

He had been wrong not to worry.

A part of Buffy whispered insistently that she should call for Giles, wake him up and have him come and take the keys away. It would remove the temptation that was haunting her at the moment, demanding that she take advantage of the one opportunity to escape her bonds…

…the one opportunity Giles had failed to consider.

Buffy was trying desperately not to think about it herself. She desperately wanted to be with Spike – but she was terrified that if she was with him before they had found a way to control the rage within her, she would only end up hurting him.

He's yours, the voice echoed again in her head. You can do whatever you want with him…

"No, Buffy," she whispered aloud, shutting her eyes tight as she struggled to control the overwhelming desire that was pushing her to do what she knew she should not. "Don't do it. You can't. Don't do it…"

You can – just do it – he's yours, there's nothing to stop you…

"No – I can't hurt him again – I won't!" She was just grateful that there was no one around to witness this latest evidence of the losing of her mind.

Fight it, Buffy, she told herself firmly, her eyes shut as she tried to concentrate on anything but her consuming, ever-strengthening desire for the vampire she had claimed – and the mental link that joined them.

Fight it…

The digital clock on the endtable read 10:35 when Spike awoke, very suddenly, from a deep, restful sleep – the first he had had in weeks. He glanced around the room for a few moments, blinking, disoriented, as he tried to figure out what it was that had awakened him. The room was perfectly silent. At his side, Dawn slept soundly, not moving or making a sound – and not touching him at all.

It was then that he felt it again – a strange sensation that he did not remember feeling, but instinctively knew was what had awakened him before – a twinge of feeling in the mark on his throat, not strong enough to be called pain – yet – but a slowly building burn that he knew only Buffy's touch could relieve.

The longing for his claimant came over him with a fresh power, his suddenly overwhelming desire for her drawing him to get up, to leave – to find her. He somehow sensed that she was calling to him, was making him feel these things.

He had to go to her -- had to -- now!

No, something in him warned. Don't do it…you're safe here…don't blow it. Stay here…

He glanced at Dawn, oblivious to his struggle as she innocently slept on. A part of him desperately wanted to wake her – and a part of him was intensely relieved that she was still asleep.

Her touch seemed to have the power to calm this need within him – to give him back some measure of control over his hijacked emotions. He wondered for a moment if it would work while she was sleeping – thought about just reaching out and taking her hand, to see if it could cool the rising fire of need within him.

But for some reason, he could not bring himself to do it. He told himself that it was not necessary, and anyway she probably had to be awake for it to work – and he did not want to wake her – but he knew the truth, deep down.

A part of him did not really want these emotions quelled.

The pressure of the call he could feel, drawing him to Buffy, mingling with the burning in her mark with his own natural desire for her, formed an almost irresistible force, and before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and heading toward the door, glancing anxiously back over his shoulder to be sure that Dawn was still asleep.

He didn't want her waking up and trying to keep him from…

His hand froze on the doorknob, an instant away from leaving the safe shelter of the house, his eyes widening as he realized what he was about to do. Joyce and Dawn had gone to so much trouble to help him, to protect him from being hurt by Buffy again – and here he was about to deliberately walk back into harm's way?

He swallowed hard as he was forced to ask himself the question – was it worth it?

Buffy had long since abandoned the cot, pushing it aside and resuming her frenetic pacing, though silently. Although something deep within her wanted to scream out in rage at the man sleeping in the next room, for restraining her like this, for keeping her from her mate – she knew that she was more likely to actually get what she wanted if he stayed asleep.

But why was she not getting what she wanted?

Her entire body was burning, shaking, writhing with a fever of need for Spike – her mate. Desperately she called him to her – but as of yet, he had made no response.

She could feel him, across the distance that separated them, feel the need he had for her, his desire to be with her and his reaction to the call she had sent out across the blood ties that bound them together. But she could also feel his doubt, his hesitation – and the fact that he was not moving any nearer to her – not yet.

She felt the uncertainty of his intentions – his debating whether or not to come to her at all.

She bit back a primal roar of fury, as at this distant act of defiance, the possessive force within her came surging to the forefront, intensifying the power of her call, demanding that her mate come to her as commanded, now!

Spike's uneasy deliberations were cut short as the burning in his throat suddenly intensified to an excruciating level, and he choked back a cry of pain, nearly collapsing, desperately grasping onto the door in front of him for support as an overwhelming wave of powerful sensations swept over him, courtesy of his claimant.

He rested his head on the cool glass of the small angular window pain in the door, gasping in sharp, shaky breaths in an attempt to steady himself, while struggling at the same time to stay quiet, to not reveal his ordeal to the sleeping girl on the sofa.

He could feel Buffy's fury, her indignant rage at the fact that he had not yet responded to her call – which was growing ever more powerful…and painful…by the moment. He wondered, fighting back a sick feeling of panic as his hand rose to cover his enflamed throat, if she could actually cause him to spontaneously combust from clear across town.

Because he felt like he was going to – and he knew that only her touch could soothe the scorching heat that engulfed him.

The sensitive flesh beneath his hand was shockingly hot to his own touch – and not the least bit soothed by the cool pressure he applied. A sense of cold apprehension settled in the pit of his stomach, roiling up in waves of nauseating fear. Suddenly, he very much wanted to stay here – as far from the enraged primal force that was controlling his mate as he could possibly get.

But it was too late for that.

He had no choice; his decision was suddenly made as he realized that the only way he would find any relief from the agony she had unleashed upon him was to go to her, to yield to her demands. Steeling himself to do what he knew he had to do, he slowly and deliberately opened the door, slipping out into the night, carefully closing and locking the door behind him.

Even now, he wanted to be sure that nothing happened to the two other most important women in his life.

As quickly as he could manage through the haze of flame that seemed to surround him, he made his way across town toward the Magic Box, though no one had told him that that was where Buffy was spending this night.

No one had to.


	42. Chapter 42

As Spike made his way across town, drawing ever nearer to the Slayer to whom he was bound, he was surprised, and cautiously relieved, to feel the burning agony in his throat ease slightly. He could feel that Buffy knew he was coming, and his obedience was at least partially soothing the rage within her – but he knew better than to assume that it would completely make up for his defiance before.

With a trembling hand and a sense of dreadful anticipation in his heart, Spike cautiously opened the back door of the Magic Box leading into the training room. A small desk lamp on a little table against the wall was the only light in the large room, presumably in order to allow Buffy to sleep. But she was very definitely not sleeping – and although her form was shrouded in shadow, far from the lamp, Spike had no trouble seeing her at all.

She seemed to fill his vision until he could see nothing else.

She was leaning casually back against the wall behind her, her arms crossed over her chest as if in boredom or unconcern, apparently relaxed and at ease. When his eyes found her, mere seconds after he had opened the door, she was already focused on him, looking him up and down with a slight smile on her lips and a predatory gleam in her eyes.

It gave him the eerie sensation that she had known the exact moment when he would walk through the door, and had already been focused on that spot – just waiting for him to appear where she already knew he would be.

When her eyes finished their bold, blatantly possessive perusal of his body, they finally met his, and the stunning look of raw hunger and desire he saw there nearly took his breath away. It was a look of pure possessive need, declaring silently that he belonged to her – and she would not be deprived of him for another moment.

"Come here," she said softly, her voice even and calm, though her desire was easy to read in her tone.

He hesitated for just a moment, fear slowing his steps. She did not sound angry, and all he could see in her expression was how badly she wanted him – nearly as bad as he had been wanting her.

But – she had tricked him in that way before, luring him in and not revealing her true intentions until it was too late for him to do anything about it – and then attacking him viciously when he was most vulnerable to her.

Who're you kidding, mate? he reminded himself with sad irony. It's already too late…it was too bloody late the moment after you agreed to be hers.

He had only wavered for an instant, and was already moving toward her again – but he watched with dismay as her eyes darkened slightly with anger, and the burning sensation in her mark that had almost faded, began again with renewed intensity.

"I'm coming!" he quickly assured her, hurriedly closing the distance between them on shaking legs, as the fire consuming him grew even stronger. "Please, Buffy – I'm…"

His words were cut off as he came within her reach, and she suddenly gripped his arm and pulled him closer to her, her other hand stretching to the limits of the chains that bound it to the wall, to rest at the small of his back and press him closer against her body. The scent of her mingled anger and arousal surrounded him, mesmerizing him as she yanked him into a desperate, demanding kiss, forcefully invading his mouth as if she wanted to devour him completely.

When she finally pulled back, holding him at arm's length, she was breathing hard, her face flushed with desire, her eyes alight with an almost feral passion. He pressed in close to her again, craving more of her touch, her kiss.

The mark on his throat felt like it was on fire.

"Buffy," he moaned softly in frustration and fear as she held him back from her, preventing him from coming any closer to her. "Please…"

"Shhh," she whispered, and he obeyed, though he was past the point of desperation by now, in a fever of need. He stared at her in confusion. She was smiling with a sort of amused satisfaction at his dilemma, her eyes glimmering with the pleasure of the power she held over him. But then, she glanced toward the door pointedly as she explained, "We're not exactly alone."

His eyes widened as he realized that there was someone in the store. But he knew it would be closed by now, and he could see only darkness through the small gap that it had been left open. He looked back at her with a puzzled frown.

Who? he asked her, restricting himself to her thoughts, in order to obey her command to be quiet.

He had to please her, he reminded himself – had to get her to relieve the fiery agony of his need for her touch.

Her smile was knowing as she replied in his mind, That doesn't really matter to you – does it?

He shook his head, closing his eyes, his breath coming harder and ragged as the burning sensation suddenly intensified. His eyes snapped open wide and he stared at her with a look of disbelief, feeling almost – betrayed.

What the bloody hell had he done to cause her to…?

But then, he saw the truth in her cruel smirk. Nothing. He had done nothing at all to merit her deliberately increasing the pain he was experiencing. She simply enjoyed the power she held over him, the ability to make him need her so much.

He was so desperate by now that he felt tears of frustration and despair spring to his eyes. Buffy – please – please, I need you to…

Quiet. Her voice in his head was calm but hard – merciless.

He was silent, his eyes downcast, still gasping for breath, as she softened her tone to add in a voice of patronizing affection, I can't do anything to help you as long as I'm chained up here, can I? She pulled upward against her chains to demonstrate her point.

His eyes widened with realization, as he stared down at the taut chains, processing the truth of her words. Bound as she was, she could not raise her hands much farther than his waist. In his desperation, he could only think of one solution. If she couldn't reach him, he would have to make it so that she could.

Go, and – no, stop! she ordered sharply, as he started to go to his knees in front of her, to bring the mark within her reach.

He was nearly delirious with the burning pain, his desperate desire for her, and was willing to do nearly anything just to make it stop. But her hands held him firmly, not allowing him to drop to his knees.

Listen to me! she snapped, shaking him slightly.

Once his attention was focused on her again, she smiled, pleased by his attention. Still, her voice was warning as she spoke softly, "You stop worrying so much about what you want me to do – and focus on what I want you to do – or I might not help you even when I can!"

His pleading blue eyes were desperately attentive as they locked onto hers, and he waited silently for her command, barely able to focus at all for the searing heat now radiating through his entire body.

Satisfied, Buffy repeated her interrupted order, slowly and calmly, holding his gaze. "Go and close the door. Then, go to that table over there and get the keys."

His eyes followed the gesture of her hand toward the small table with the lamp on it, and he nodded as she released him to obey her. He hurried to close the door, being careful not to make any sound as he did, before going to the table and retrieving the keys.

He rushed back to Buffy's side, reaching down with a trembling hand to unlock the manacle on her right wrist. Once it was freed, he went to work on the left, his hands shaking so badly that he could hardly get the key into the lock.

He was vaguely surprised when her freed arm slid gently around his waist in a soothing gesture, as she stood quietly beside him, patiently watching and waiting as he tried to free her. It was the closest to affection that he had seen from this dark, possessive side of Buffy – and he found it strangely calming – calming enough to allow him to get the remaining manacle off of Buffy's left wrist.

The moment she was freed completely, she turned to face him, placing her other hand at the back of his neck and gifting him with a warm, grateful smile as she pulled him gently down into a tender kiss. He was more confused by the moment, as her anger seemed to have faded away completely, if one judged by the gentleness in her hands and lips, and the soft affection in her eyes.

He could almost have forgotten that this was not really his Buffy – not the gentle, affectionate girl that he had seen in her more lucid moments since the claim.

She's not 'your' Buffy, he reminded himself. You're hers, but she's not yours…never was…never will be… But in the tender embrace of her warm arms – he could almost forget that, too.

He could almost forget – if not for the burning need that still consumed him, the fire slowly engulfing him through her mark, that could only ever be quenched by her touch.

When she finally ended the kiss, only out of her necessity to draw breath, he turned his head slightly, arching his neck up toward her, desperately, silently pleading for the soothing relief of her touch.

Her soft, throaty chuckle held affection, but also a wicked amusement, as her hand at the back of his neck played gently through his hair, and she leaned in close to his throat – but did not touch him.

A tremor of desperate desire shook through him as her breath fell tantalizingly across the mark when she whispered into his ear, "God, I've missed you!"

Despite the torment she was so coolly leaving him in, despite his fear and the trauma of this tumultuous new relationship that had consumed him so quickly, literally overnight, he could not deny that he had missed her too – and that her words, undeniably sincere in spite of everything, sent a little thrill of pleasure through him, to think that she had wanted to be with him, too, during their brief separation.

But the pleasure of that realization was quickly dampened by the ever-intensifying, searing agony that was still coursing through him.

"Buffy…" he whispered desperately.

He was silenced by another kiss, as she suddenly gripped the front of his shirt in both hands and spun them around, slamming him into the wall with breathtaking force as she once again ravaged his mouth, leaving him breathless and longing, instinctively following her mouth with his when she finally drew it back.

Her eyes were dancing with laughter as they met his for a moment before she slowly – torturously slowly – lowered her mouth toward his throat again, holding eye contact with him until the last possible second.

He slumped back against the wall, his trembling arms wrapped around her, relief coursing through him – but it was premature, and short-lived.

She slowly, sensuously kissed a soft, hot trail of kisses up and down the alabaster column of his throat – still deliberately avoiding the place that was causing him so much pain.

"You're mine," she whispered against his skin. "Right?"

"Right," he gasped, nodding almost frantically, his hands clinging to her, drawing her nearer.

"Never gonna let anyone keep us apart again," she murmured, and his confused mind could not determine whether she was stating that she was not going to, or demanding that he not allow them to be separated again.

Either way, he knew better than to argue. "No," he agreed in a hoarse, desperate whisper. "No, Buffy – please…please…" The last word was nearly a sob, as she nipped lightly at the sensitive skin a mere fraction of an inch above the mark.

She drew back, a cruel little smirk on her face as she met his eyes with a challenging look. "Oh, that's right," she said slowly, in a voice of false innocence. "There was something you wanted from me…wasn't there? You were just asking me about it, when I sent you to get the keys, right?"

He nodded, swallowing back a harsh sob that rose in his throat, his head bowed and his eyes closed, not wanting to see the cold expression in her eyes.

Relentless, she reached a hand out to raise his chin, silently demanding that he look at her. He forced himself to obey, his eyes welling with tears from the overwhelming tumult of emotions that had filled the last hour.

"Let's see," she mused softly, her eyes hardening, her lips quirking up in a smirk of cruel intent. "You were just about to beg me to do it…now, where were you, exactly…?" She spoke thoughtfully, a pensive frown on her face, as if trying to remember what he had been saying, stepping backward subtlely – giving him room…

…and he knew instantly that she was not talking about his words.

He swallowed hard, looking down again, as he realized what she wanted from him. Deep down, buried beneath the confusion and pain that overwhelmed all other emotions for him lately, he felt anger and indignation that she would expect it of him – and he fought it, for a few brief moments…

…before the searing, vicious agony of her mark stole away his last vestige of pride.

He slowly sank to his knees in front of her, his head bowed, its crown resting lightly against her stomach, his hands just barely hovering over her hips, before daring to lightly touch them with trembling hands.

"Please," he whispered in a shaky, hoarse voice of desperation. "Please, Buffy – please…"

Finally, she granted his broken request, her fingertips lightly brushing over the inflamed spot on his throat – and just like that, the pain vanished, swallowed up in a soft soothing sensation of mild pleasure. He relaxed slightly against her, his shoulders shaking with sobs of relief and repressed agony, his hands thoughtlessly clutching at her waist for dear life.

She did not seem bothered by his touch. Both of her hands fell to stroke gently through his disheveled blonde curls in a twisted gesture of affection, as a little smile began on her lips, her eyes glittering with cold satisfaction.

"I told you – didn't I?" she said softly, in a sad, vaguely apologetic sort of tone, crouching down in front of him, tucking her head in an attempt to meet his eyes, as one hand moved around to gently rub away a tear from his face. "I told you that if you made me – I could do this to you."

He nodded silently, tears streaming down his face as he swallowed back a sob. He did remember, that first night when she had taught him the "lesson" of obedience to her at any cost. She had warned him of the power she now held over him through the mark – and he had agreed to obey, to do his best to please her.

In his confusion and pain and helpless desire, he could not figure out how exactly he had failed to do that.

She was more than happy to explain it to him.

"But then," she said in a soft, deceptively gentle voice, her hand slowly stroking through his hair in a disarmingly soothing gesture, "you decided you had other plans. Trying to avoid me – choosing someone else over me, and hitting me to defend her…"

The hatred in her voice was a shock to his system, snapping him suddenly out of the lull her gentle touch and previously soft voice had been drawing him into, as the truth hit him full force.

His Buffy, of her own free will, would never speak of her mother with such hatred.

He looked up at her sharply, studying her face intently for a long moment.

She did not notice for a bit as she went on, "Messing around with another girl, when you're mine!"

A note of anger entered his voice as he stared into the suddenly distant, foreign eyes of the Slayer, objecting to the untrue accusation. "I didn't…"

In a flash she was standing up again, cutting off his words with a savage blow across his face, as she snarled, "Don't lie to me, you filthy little whore! I saw you – I heard you talking about me behind my back – I felt you touching her when I wasn't there – and your not hers, no matter what she thinks! You're mine!" She slapped him again, knocking him backward into the wall behind him, reiterating forcefully, "Mine!"

He stayed there against the wall for a moment, breathing hard, his eyes carefully downcast as he struggled to reign in his own anger, anger that could get him hurt worse if he was not careful.

Slowly he raised his eyes to hers, blazing with repressed fury and defiance, as he finally answered softly but emphatically, "Buffy is the one who claimed me – and it's her claim I accepted. Whoever the bloody hell you are, you've got nothing to do with it."

Her eyes widened in shock at his words, then narrowed again in anger. Yet again her expression changed, as a slow smile came over her face, and she crouched down in front of him again, oppressively close.

"Is that right?" she sneered softly, leaning in nearer to him, her smile deepening when he drew back against the wall. She slowly stretched a hand toward the mark, and he cringed, knowing that in her eyes, he had earned more vicious punishment.

But her hand merely ghosted over the spot, not actually touching it, as she went on quietly but intensely, "Then why can I do this, Spike? Why do I have this power over you?"

He swallowed hard, not knowing the answer to the question. He turned his head away, his eyes closed as he struggled to make it make sense. All he really knew was that this terrible, powerful, dangerous creature facing him now had not been visible in Buffy prior to the claim.

Finally, he just shook his head slowly, still not looking at her. "I don't know what you've done or how you've done it," he said in a quiet, steady voice. "But Buffy's stronger than you think – and she's not gonna just take this lying down. She's gonna find a way to stop you…to get rid of you…"

He half expected a violent reaction to his words, but the creature before him just laughed softly. Strange it was, hearing Buffy's tinkling, musical laugh falling from the throat of this savage being facing him now.

"Get rid of me?" she echoed in a softly mocking, incredulous voice. "How is she going to do that, exactly? She is me! She can't get rid of me – I'm not going anywhere – and soon enough she and her little friends are gonna figure that out…"

Her voice suddenly trailed off, and Spike looked up at her, curious and suspicious. He stared at her, frowning, as her eyes widened and she drew back slowly, staring off at some distant point across the room as if hearing or seeing something that he could not.

"No…" she whispered suddenly, shaking her head. "No…she can't…"

She stood up suddenly, and he flinched at her erratic movements, not knowing what to expect from her as she began to pace nervously, her hands at her head as if trying to hold something in. "No," she repeated emphatically. "No…she's me…she can't…you can't…no!"

The last word came out as a frustrated growl of fury as she slammed her fist angrily into the wall, and the vampire on the floor beside her jumped, watching her every step warily. What the bloody hell was happening here? he wondered with rising trepidation. This situation got crazier by the moment.

Suddenly, Buffy doubled over, her hands crossed over her stomach as she sank to her knees on the floor with a groan, rocking slowly back and forth as if in terrible pain. "No…no…no…" she whispered, shaking her head, apparently in the midst of some deep inner torment or battle.

And then, suddenly, she stopped her frantic rocking, her head snapping up and her eyes locking onto his, slowly fading from confusion to focus and clarity.

And he instantly knew – could tell by the aching confusion, the deep sorrow and agonizing guilt in her eyes as the last hour came back to her.

Buffy had returned.

"Spike?" she whispered, her voice a haunted whisper of pain and shame, her eyes pleading for forgiveness for a mere instant…

…before they suddenly rolled back in her head, and without another sound the Slayer collapsed to the floor, completely unconscious.


	43. Chapter 43

"Buffy! Buffy!"

Not thinking, just acting on the pure instinct that drew him to his mate's side, Spike was on his knees beside the fallen Slayer in an instant. He gripped her arms in his hands, shaking her slightly in an attempt to rouse her – but she was limp and unresponsive to his touch. An inexplicable sense of panic began to steal over him, as various possibilities floated through his mind.

What if the thing inside her had finally managed to subdue her for good? What if Buffy -- his Buffy – never came back? Or what if she never woke up at all?

In spite of everything she had done to him – that thought was bloody terrifying.

After the cruel encounter he had just had with the enraged, possessive side of the Slayer, the part of him that sought self-preservation was telling him that he was being utterly daft. This was his chance to escape – he should flee while he could, rather than attempting to awaken the powerful, dangerous creature that had been in the process of beating and terrorizing him when she had passed out.

She seemed to be becoming more and more violent and out of control all the time. One of these times, she was bound to go too far – to not return from that place of rage until she had killed him.

He found himself wondering how far away he could get before she woke up, and how far away he would have to get to escape her mental control over him.

Was there even a place far enough away?

He had the sinking suspicion that there was not. No matter how far he went to get away from her – her claim would pull him back. The only way he would ever escape the claim was through death – his, or hers.

That thought, combined with the sight of the pale, unconscious Slayer in his arms, was enough to send a jolt of terror through him, reminding him that no matter how cruelly she had treated him, it was infinitely more frightening to think of losing her forever.

Maybe it was just the effects of the claim – maybe it was more – but all he knew was that if he lost her, his mate -- he would likely lose his mind as well.

"Buffy!" he nearly shouted, shaking her harder. "Buffy, love – wake up!"

He felt a tremendous sense of relief – which was quickly mingled with fear and trepidation – when the Slayer suddenly began to stir in his arms, frowning slightly, her eyes still closed, as she slowly fought her way back to consciousness.

He hesitated, unsure of what he should do. If she came back as the vicious, controlling Buffy who had been berating and abusing him, he imagined that she would be furious to find herself in this vulnerable position, held in his arms, especially considering the mood she had been in when she had passed out.

But if it was his Buffy – the one who was connected to him by the bond of her claim, but did not seem to feel the need to constantly tear him down and remind him of how far beneath her he was – then he knew that she would want his support, the comfort of his embrace, after what had to have been a frightening experience.

As she started to come around, sitting up slowly in his arms, one hand braced against the floor to push herself up and her eyelids slowly fluttered open as she drew back out of his arms to look at him, blinking in confusion.

In that moment, in the absence of the fear of whether or not she was going to be all right – a sudden panic gripped him. If she was not yet completely in control, she would likely knock him across the room just for daring to touch her in such a casual, familiar way.

As her eyes began to slowly come into focus on him, he scooted cautiously back across the floor a couple of feet, watching her warily. Every nerve in his body was electrified with fear; he had absolutely no idea what to expect from her.

All he knew was that whatever she would do, he would be powerless to stop.

"Spike?" she whispered in a lost voice of painful uncertainty. "What – what happened?"

He frowned, surprised and worried by that. "Don't tell me you don't bloody remember?" he said, a bit sharply, one eyebrow raised in a question. She had always remembered her little bouts of insanity before.

She looked up at him quickly for a moment, startled – before her eyes went wide with shock…as it all came flooding back to her. Disgust and anger – both self-directed, showed in her eyes as she shook her head slowly in denial, moving instinctively toward him, wanting to make right what she had done, not considering yet the fact that any way of doing that involving actually touching him would probably not be received well.

Indeed, Spike immediately misunderstood, thinking that the almost fierce expression on her face and her unexpected movement toward him were in response to the tone he had used with her, and his failure to answer her question. He looked down quickly, edging slightly away from her as he quickly, nervously corrected himself.

"I mean – I'll tell you everything, Buffy, it's just – just kind of scary that you – you don't…"

His words trailed off as he felt her, saw her, drawing nearer to him, and dared not move away from her any further. He stopped talking, his thoughts scattered, and not trusting his own voice anyway, swallowing convulsively as she closed the slight remaining distance between them.

"Spike," she repeated his name in a soft, trembling voice full of emotion – but the softness in her tone didn't quite register with him yet.

The memory of her brutality, her vicious humiliation of him only minutes earlier, was too fresh in his mind to allow him to recognize the tenderness in her voice now. She touched his arm – a feather-soft, barely there touch that revealed her own fear and shame to face him – and he nearly jumped out of his skin, flinching back, his jaw setting in fearful frustration when he realized that his back was already to the wall, and there was nowhere to go.

"Spike," she whispered gently in a voice that was choked with tears. "Please – I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," he replied in a quiet, carefully controlled tone – too quickly. "It's okay…"

It was painfully obvious to her that genuine forgiveness was not something he could even consider yet – not because he wouldn't forgive her, but because he was still in survival mode – too afraid to argue with her, or deny her, or even to pull away from the soft, tentative touch of her hand that was clearly terrifying to him.

He was terrified of her. His arm under her hand was so tense, his muscles taut and trembling – just waiting for her to snap and hurt him again, as she had done so many times already.

Could she blame him if any answer besides "it's okay" did not seem like an option to him at the moment?

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, tears of grief over her own actions streaming from her eyes. "No, it's not…nothing is okay about what I just did to you."

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, his mouth working with some repressed emotion at her words.

Anger?

Fear?

Loathing of her touch, her audacity to even think that an apology would mean anything under these circumstances?

She knew that any of the above reactions would have been nothing less than deserved – but she could not seem to read him as easily as she usually could, since the claim – maybe she was afraid to.

"Please tell me," she whispered, struggling over the hard knot of pain and regret in her throat. "Please tell me – what I can do – I'm so sorry – please – how can I make this right, Spike?"

Before he could think to control his reaction, his eyes shot up to hers, incredulity and disbelief mingling with the hurt and shame in his eyes. Her words were simply unbelievable to him; how could she even begin to think that she could undo what she had said and done to him so easily?

In a sudden surge of anger, before he could stop himself, he jerked his arm away from her, snapping at her bitterly in a trembling voice, "Could you maybe not bloody touch me? That'll do for a start!"

She immediately withdrew her hand, stunned by his words, hitting her like a slap in the face.

Like the slap she had dealt him, just a little while ago.

She deserved it; she knew she did. She could feel the anger, boiling inside her, deep down – but for the moment, it was staying down. She had managed to push it so far back that there was no danger of its surfacing any time soon.

In spite of everything, the hint of a smile came to Buffy's face as she remembered what she had wanted to tell him before, only moments after she had awakened, but had been distracted from by his emotional reaction to her. She had no idea how long it might last, and she knew that it would return, and she would have to fight it again – but for the moment, her "source of power" was under control.

She had beaten it – for the moment.

Spike had no way of knowing that.

The instant his scathing, bitter words left his mouth, he drew in a sharp breath, visibly steeling himself for her reaction as he realized what he had done. Every time before when he had pulled away from Buffy, it had brought out the violent possessive side of her – and he expected that it would this time, too.

He drew back against the wall, his eyes closed, swallowing hard in fearful expectation of punishment for his defiance.

"Spike…" Buffy said softly, moving in closer, shaking her head in denial of his suspicions and fears. "No…"

"Please," he whispered, flinching slightly, his body tensing as he sensed her nearness, assuming that she meant to retaliate against him, to prove that it was her right to touch him if she wanted to. "Buffy – I didn't mean it…"

"Yes, you did," she stated quietly, gently, a deep sorrow and regret in her voice as she stretched her hand out slowly toward him. Instinctively she knew what to do, how to show him that she meant him no harm.

If she didn't manage to scare him half to death in the process of getting there.

Spike completely misinterpreted her actions, drawing in a sharp breath as her hand moved toward the mark on his throat. "Don't!" he cried out in a soft, anguished tone that tore at her heart to hear it. His desperate plea was painfully stunning to her.

Her hand froze, less than an inch from its target, and she stared at him in sorrow, speechless with horror at the effect her actions had had on him.

Feeling a sense of hope at her hesitation, though still believed that she had intended to hurt him, Spike let out his words in a rushed, desperate whisper, "Please – I'm sorry, Buffy – please don't – don't be angry with me – I'm yours, I know I'm yours, I know you can do whatever you want, just please don't…I just – I just – can't…right now…"

His voice broke over that final desperate admission, and he could not go on, choking back the tears that threatened to overcome him, breathless and silent as he waited for her response.

Her arm relaxed, lowering just a bit, and Spike let out a long, shaky breath of tentative relief.

"Does this feel like I'm angry to you?"

He glanced up at the sound of the Slayer's sad, small voice – just as she reached quickly toward him again.

He didn't have time to move away, to brace himself – even to be afraid – as her hand came into contact with the mark, overwhelming him instantly with a powerful flood of sensation, for the second time that night.

But this was nothing like before.

This was exquisite pleasure, beyond anything he had ever felt – an overwhelming sense of safety and warmth and affection to rival what he had felt in the moment when she had claimed him. It was the manifestation of Buffy's desire to undo the damage her alter-ego had done.

As the initial wave of pleasure at her touch gradually ebbed away, he was overwhelmed a second time, this time with a tumult of emotions and wordless thoughts and feelings that defied expression. He felt a tremendous sense of sorrow, confusion, shame and guilt; but also affection, adoration, awe and gratitude.

He knew immediately that he was feeling Buffy's emotions, her thoughts filling his head, as through the line that connected their hearts and minds, Buffy opened up to him all the painful blurring of thoughts and feelings that had consumed her since the moment the claim had been made.

He knew -- through her eyes – her guilt, her horror over the things she had done, her feelings of being out of control, unable to stop what was happening – and yet knowing that she was responsible for it. And those deeper feelings, for which there were no words, he still knew, feeling them, for a moment, as Buffy felt them every moment.

His heart, his mind, his entire being was surrounded, engulfed in the swirling vortex of Buffy's psyche, until he felt as if he was in her, and she was in him – as if they were one and the same. Her pain, her shame, her tears – all were his as well. And the stunning depths of much more beautiful feelings belonged to him as well.

He was stunned, and unspeakably relieved, to feel the tenderness, the concern that her dark vicious actions had made him believe was completely vacant from her heart.

Suddenly, it hit him with a shock – what he had expected to find that was noticeably absent…or at least dramatically weakened.

The violent rage, the anger and possessive cruelty that seemed to consume her most of the time lately was nowhere to be found. He tried to figure it out through the waves of sensation washing over him.

Perhaps she was simply concealing it from him deliberately; the mental control she had over him led him to believe that she could do that, if she wanted to. And, as at the moment she seemed to be repentant for what she had done and wanted to soothe his fears, perhaps she was trying not to let him see her darker side.

Or maybe – just maybe…

His eyes widened as the idea occurred to him, as he remembered the fierce internal struggle that Buffy had apparently been waging in the moments before she had lost consciousness. Was it possible that she had found a way to regain control over her own body and mind from the sinister force that had been wielding it as a weapon against him?

Aware of the turn his thoughts were taking, Buffy slowly withdrew her hand from her mark, and gradually the world around him returned. He opened his eyes, hazy and unfocused for a moment, trying to make her face become clear before them.

When the blurring of his vision faded away and everything came into focus, he noticed with surprise that she was closer than he had expected -- much closer.

He glanced down and around him, noting with a sort of wonder that she was gently cradling him in her arms, as he leaned against her heavily, shaking slightly with the power of the borrowed emotions she had allowed him to feel. His hands clutched lightly at her waist, and he bowed his head to her shoulder, breathing hard as he tried to ground himself again.

For once, he feared no repercussions for his presumption of touching her.

Her hand rose to rest at the back of his head, stroking gently, comfortingly, through his hair as she gave him a few moments to recover from the sheer intensity of the experience, before speaking softly.

"I wanted to tell you," her words fell in a tone barely over a whisper near his ear. "I wanted to let you know as soon as I woke up…"

Gently she pulled back, wanting to look him in the eye as she told him, and he could see a sparkling look of hope in her emerald eyes as they met his. She was smiling tentatively, as her hands slid around him to rest on his shoulders and she took a deep breath before speaking.

"I fought it. I fought it with everything in me, Spike. I knew what I was doing, and I hated it, and I fought it…

…and I won."


	44. Chapter 44

Spike stared at the Slayer in disbelief, wondering if she had really said what he thought she'd just said – but not really daring to believe it, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"How?" he managed finally in a hoarse whisper, his eyes searching hers with an aching look of desperation and longing.

He wanted so badly for it to be true…was it possible…?

"I don't know, Spike," she admitted softly, her hand rising to tenderly caress his cheek before drifting down to rest gently on his shoulder. "I really don't know how I did it. I just know – I knew what I was doing, and I couldn't seem to stop it, but I hated it so much! So I just – fought it – tried so hard…I can't even explain it, really. But – but I managed to push back all that – that rage, the violence that was in control of me – and now I'm the one in control."

Yes, Spike thought dubiously, looking away from her, trying to conceal his doubt. But for how long?

He believed that she thought she had won – and perhaps she had, temporarily – but he knew better than to think that the ultimate victory over the force that was controlling her could possibly be so simple.

"I don't know."

The soft, apologetic admission that Buffy made in response to his unspoken question took him by surprise, and he looked back up at her sharply, unable to hide the spark of fear in his eyes. He had almost forgotten that she could hear his thoughts. Again, he felt a trapped sense of helplessness, reminded of the fact that there truly was no escape from her control.

Her eyes softened, welling with tears as their link also revealed these feelings and thoughts to her, and she was overwhelmed with guilt again.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her hands moving slowly up and down his arms in a gentle, reassuring motion. "All those things I said – what I did to you – Spike, I'm so sorry!"

He believed that she was in control for the moment – but that did not mean that he felt safe to speak his mind just yet. There was no guarantee that the force she had managed to just subdue for the first time, if -- when -- it returned, would not punish him for any disrespect or defiance he showed now, while Buffy was in control.

" 'S all right," he said in a soft, low voice, his eyes averted to hide the shame, the tears, that her gentle sympathy now brought flooding back to the surface. "You couldn't help it, love."

"But I could have," she corrected him softly. "I could have never done this to you. I could have told Giles that I wasn't gonna do it. I could have left well enough alone, Spike, like you said." She paused, before adding very quietly, "You were right."

For another long moment he just stared at her, incredulous, slowly shaking his head before lowering it again, as he began to laugh softly, a bitter, ironic note to the sound.

"What?" Buffy asked with quiet concern in hr voice, frowning -- because there was certainly nothing happy about Spike's laughter at the moment. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Slayer," he finally replied quietly, his shoulders still shaking as he met her eyes again. "It's just that -- never thought I'd hear you bloody say a thing like that!"

She smiled uncertainly, not sure if she should feel relief at his explanation or not. It made sense; admitting that he was right was not very Buffy-like behavior. But his emotions just seemed so precarious at the moment; she knew he was not at all okay, and possibly on the edge of a complete emotional meltdown.

A moment later, he proved her right, his smile fading as he added, "Somehow not as bloody satisfying as I thought it'd be." His shoulders shook again with silent, joyless laughter at his own words.

And then, before either of them could prepare for it, in an instant, the laughter had turned to sobbing. Tears streamed down the blonde's face, as he doubled over, gasping for breath through the sobs that choked him.

Instinctively, Buffy put her arm around him, pulling him close to her in a steadying embrace, her heart breaking with the weight of what she had done. Her arms were tentative, unsure; after all that had happened, she longed to comfort him, but was not sure if he wanted to be comforted -- not by her.

Spike was unresisting -- but that meant nothing at the moment. At what point since she had claimed him had he been made to believe that he had the choice to resist at all? He felt so tense againt her, and his body was shaken with violent shudders of emotion. She thought it was from his crying -- but she had to be sure.

"Spike," she whispered into his ear, knowing he could hear her despite his anguished sobs. "I know I'm probably the last person you want touching you right now. I'm so sorry. I wish I could undo it -- but I can't. And -- and everything inside me is just crying out and telling me over and over again that -- that you're mine, and I should be making this better. I want so bad to be here for you -- to protect you -- to do something to make this right! I really want to be here for you, Spike -- but I won't force you to let me. If you want me to -- I'll just back off and leave you alone."

He did not respond at all, but she felt him flinch a little against her at the words – and Buffy felt a cold chill go down her spine as she thought she realized why.

He did not want her to touch him – but he was too afraid to say so.

She pulled back slowly, swallowing back a sob of her own at the perceived rejection, though she knew it was well-deserved. She couldn't blame him a bit if he never wanted to see her again, after the way she had treated him.

And he was bound to her for the rest of her life.

But then, she was startled as his hands reached out, suddenly grasping her arms in a strong but trembling grip, holding her to him desperately.

"No," he whispered through his tears, without lifting his head from her shoulder. "No, Buffy – please, I need you!"

His desperate, nearly panicked plea tore at her heart, and she immediately pulled him close to her again, moving backward so that her back was to the wall, and just holding him in her arms for a long time as he sat there beside her and cried it out. Even after his sobs had subsided and he seemed to have regained control, she just held him, her hand moving slowly up and down his back in a soothing motion. For a long time, they just sat there in silence, taking comfort in each other.

Because beyond all the pain and turmoil of their frightening situation, one fact remained – they were mated, and neither would ever feel truly complete again without the other.

"I feel like such a pathetic git," Spike finally said, his voice hoarse and raspy with the tears he had just shed. "Bloody 'master vampire'! Bawling on the shoulder of the Slayer, no less! Some monster I turned out to be!" His voice was full of self-derision, as he added in a low mutter, "Bleedin' ponce!"

Buffy was silent, her hand playing idly through his hair, offering him silent comfort as she stared off into space.

And I'm the monster who brought the monster to tears, she thought, her eyes widening with horrified realization.

"Feel free to jump in any time and correct me," Spike said dryly, without lifting his head from where it rested on her shoulder – calling her attention back to the conversation and out of her morose thoughts.

She could not help but laugh, in spite of their situation, at his ever-present sarcasm. Still, the sound was subdued, controlled – her heart was too heavy to allow much more.

"It's just the claim, Spike," she reminded him gently. "It makes you care more than you should about what I think, and it gives me power over you. If it wasn't for the claim, you'd be trying your best to kick my butt across this room right now." She paused, considering for a moment, before adding with a shrug and a teasing smile, "You'd be losing -- but you'd be giving it your best shot!"

"Thanks," he said flatly, her words only earning a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "You're so encouraging, Slayer. What would I do without you?"

She did not respond, only swallowed hard, her smile fading – and Spike fell silent, too, as the unspoken, unintentional implications of his words sank in for them both.

"So," Spike finally broke the silence again, lifting his head from her shoulder, but still content to lean against her, enjoying the rare pleasure that was his claimant's affectionate embrace. "while you were mentally kicking this invisible nasty's arse across your mind and back – did you happen to get a good look at it? Any clue as to what it is?"

Buffy did not respond at all for a moment, considering how best to answer the question. Finally, she shook her head. "I just don't know," she admitted softly, her voice heavy with concerns she was afraid to voice. "I just – I just don't even know how to explain it, Spike. It feels like – like it's me -- or – a part of me – but…"

Suddenly, she pulled back a bit, causing the vampire to lift his head from her shoulder as she turned slightly to face him, wanting to see his eyes and make sure that he understood what she was trying to tell him. "…but, Spike – I didn't want to do it! I promise you I didn't! It's like – like it just takes me over, and I can't seem to make it stop, but I know what I'm doing the whole time too. And – and this last time, I managed to stop it – to control it somehow…"

His expression was calm, unreadable, as he focused on her, listening carefully to what she was saying, his expression revealing nothing.

Buffy went on, struggling awkwardly to put it into words. "It doesn't feel so much like something else taking me over, as it does – a part of me that I can't control – at least, not without a major fight. But I know I haven't always been like this. It's like – a new part of me – but – still me, you know?"

She studied Spike's expression hopefully for a moment, before looking down with a heavy sigh of defeat. "And – this makes absolutely no sense – does it? I know you can't understand it if I can't explain it right or understand it myself…"

"Actually, love," Spike interrupted, speaking slowly, his voice stronger now, and full of dawning realization. "it does make sense. In fact, it sounds kind of – familiar." He paused, his eyes taking on a cautious light of excitement as he started to put a few of the pieces together.

There was a gentle sarcasm in his voice as he added, "Oh, no, love – no way in the world would I understand the concept of having a scary, dangerous part of yourself that likes to come out and revel in violence and torture – and having to fight to keep it under control all the time."

He gave his words a moment to sink in before shaking his head, his eyes wide and innocent as he dead-panned, "No. Can't relate."

Buffy felt a cold fear clench around her stomach as she realized what it was that he was suggesting. "So you're saying – maybe it's like – your demon? A part of you, but…" She stopped, shaking her head, looking away suddenly – but not before he saw the rising terror in her eyes.

"No," she stated emphatically. "No, I am not part demon! That's just – just ridiculous! I…"

Her voice trailed off when she felt him tense up again under her arm that was still wrapped around him, and realized that she was making him nervous with her rising agitation. She deliberately softened the sharp edge to her tone, her fingers tracing a light, reassuring caress up and down his arm as she finished quietly. "No. That can't be it."

A moment's silence passed, and she felt Spike relax against her again, before he asked in a thoughtful voice, "What did your Watcher have to say? Did he have anything useful to contribute for a change?" His tone suggested that he highly doubted it.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope," she sighed. "Not really. He left a message for the Watcher's Council, but they haven't called him back yet…" She looked back up at him with sudden interest, remembering that there was something she could offer him in the way of semi-useful developments.

"Oh!" she said brightly, though the cheer didn't reach the expression on her face. "We do know how this happened to me, I guess – sort of. We even know what it is…" She paused, before admitting with an apologetic look, "Sort of."

Spike frowned in confusion, giving her an expectant look as she went on, "See – there was more than just the ritual involved. Willow did a spell…"

"Well, that's never good," Spike muttered, rolling his eyes in irritation.

Buffy played the good friend, although she completely agreed, and ignored his comment as she continued, "She did this spell…it was supposed to free you from the chip so that you could fight me. But – it also set something else free. The wording was something like, 'release the source of their power'. So – whatever is making me act this way – I guess is the – the source of my power? The thing that makes me the…" Her voice suddenly trailed off and she frowned, as she met his eyes again, and saw the wide-eyed look of shock and apprehension on his face.

"What?" she asked, her voice suddenly very small, uncertain.

"Buffy – I know what it is – and you're not gonna like it," Spike began cautiously. "I wasn't gonna say anything unless I was sure…"

"What?" she gasped. "Tell me!"

"Your Watcher already contacted the Council?" he asked, his tone dark and troubled.

"He left a message for them," she repeated, a bit impatiently. "But it's like, a huge time difference from here to there, so he's just waiting for them to call him back."

"They won't," he stated flatly, and something in his tone sent a shiver of fear down her spine. He pulled away from her arm and climbed to his feet as he explained, "They'll just show up. We have to get out of her, Slayer. Now."

"Spike…"

"Who knows when they got that message? They could be on their way here right now," he went on, lost in his own thoughts as he headed toward one of several weapons chests she kept in this room, crouching down in front of it and searching for suitable items to arm them both.

"Spike!" Buffy was on her feet by now, heading toward him.

He grabbed a sleek little dagger with a deadly edge, tucking it into his belt, his mind racing with too many worries to notice as she came up behind him. "I'll tell you everything once we get going, Buffy, but they're gonna be looking to take you out, and…"

"What are you saying?" she demanded in incredulous disbelief. "Are you saying that the Council would deliberately try to kill me?" As she spoke, she grew impatient with the bits and pieces of information she was slowly getting, and grabbed his arm, pulling him up away from the weapons and turning him around to face her.

He was impatient himself in his worry, and without thinking he jerked away from her hand. "Buffy, we don't have time for this, we have to…"

His words were cut off in an instant by an iron hand around his throat, spinning him around and slamming him forcefully into the wall – pinning him there. He struggled for a moment instinctively – until she moved in closer, one eyebrow raised over a little smile of amusement, but a warning look in her eyes – her grip on his throat unyielding.

The silent message was clear.

She found his resistance amusing at first, in it's futility – but she was quickly ceasing to be amused.

He froze, closing his eyes in a little grimace of pain, acknowledging his mistake, though she would not ease up on his throat enough to allow him to speak.

Please, Buffy…please…please…

She smiled coldly, pleased by his words – unaware that he did not mean them as they sounded. He was not begging for mercy – but for his Buffy, the one who cared for him and treated him with kindness and hated the way this Buffy treated him, to fight for all she was worth.

At the moment, if she was fighting at all – she seemed to be losing.

The Slayer pressed in nearer to him, pressing slightly harder on his throat, cutting off his oxygen completely. He did not need it to survive, but he still maintained the habit of breathing – had ever since his turning. Not being allowed to breathe had him on the verge of panic, gasping uselessly in a residual, very human fear. His pleading eyes met hers – and he knew immediately that she knew this, whether she had read it in his thoughts, or simply figured it out – and she was enjoying his fear.

Buffy…Buffy…hurry…please…

Misunderstanding – thankfully – the cruel creature wearing Buffy's face smiled, her eyes glittering with anger and menace as she moved in closer, her grip not easing a bit, as her thumb started to rub a slow, lazy circle about an inch above her mark.

He felt his knees weaken beneath him, and struggled to maintain his footing. The spot she was touching was not the sensitive mark she had left there – but it was close enough to send a shudder of sensation through him.

Buffy…please…

"Don't try to rush me!" she hissed in a threatening whisper. "We'll leave when I say we'll…"

He opened his eyes, anxious and hopeful, when her words suddenly cut off, and he felt her hand slacken a bit on his throat. Buffy's eyes were closed in a frown of what appeared to be intense concentration or pain, and she took a step back away from him, releasing him completely.

"Buffy," he gasped out, wincing slightly at the effort, his hand rising unconsciously to his sore throat. "Come on, love – fight it back!"

She shook her head, backing up another step away from him, and he noticed with alarm that she was swaying dangerously on her feet.

It was pure instinct that drove him to her side, gentle but strong hands beneath her arms, holding her up the instant before she would have collapsed. He knew that there was a good chance Buffy would lose the battle for control and proceed to hurt him again – but she was his mate, and she needed him.

And that was all that mattered.

He hoped uneasily that she would not lose consciousness. If Buffy passed out this time like she had last time, then it would take them even longer to get away – and if his theory as to what was happening was correct, they did not have much time.

"Come on, baby," he said softly, his lips a whisper away from her ear. "Come on, love, stay with me…come on…" he coaxed her gently, as her head lolled back slightly then forward sharply, and she allowed his hands to hold most of her weight.

Finally, her breathing evened out again, and she slowly raised her head to look at him, her eyes hazy and distant. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for her to speak and let him know who exactly he was facing.

"Spike?" she whispered uncertainly, fear and concern in her tearful green eyes – and he knew that it was his Buffy that had returned to him this time. "Did I – are you – are you okay?"

And he nearly collapsed, shaking hard with relief, gasping for breath as he lowered his head slightly to touch hers, as he whispered in a voice of immense relief, "Yeah, pet…I'm all right…I'm all right…" He looked up at her, eyes shining with awe and adoration. "You did it, love. You beat it again…"

"It – wasn't as hard that time," she said, her voice still quiet and weak with exertion. "I – I'm conscious," she shrugged slightly, with a little quirk of her lips.

He could not help but laugh, nodding. "That you are, fortunately," he agreed with a smile. "It should get easier," he added, his expression becoming more solemn as he nodded again.

The knowing sound of his voice made her frown, remembering. "Spike," she began hesitantly, holding his gaze intently. "Do you know what's happening to me?"

He looked at her for a moment before replying simply, "I do. But Buffy – please trust me, pet, we have to get out of here, now. I promise I'll tell you everything once we're somewhere where those bloody wankers won't look for us, but I'm telling you they're coming after you and they don't want to help you. Okay?"

Buffy studied his expression for a long moment, as if trying to decide how much trust to place in his word, in his theories. Finally, she nodded slowly, a look of resolution in her eyes.

"All right," she agreed quietly, reaching toward the weapons chest herself. "Let's go."


	45. Chapter 47

"We have to get to my house," Buffy stated, slamming the weapons chest shut again and heading toward the back door leading out into the alley. "My mom – my sister – we've got to get them out of there before the Council shows up looking for me." She glanced at Spike with a hint of doubt in her eyes as she opened the door. "If they're really so dangerous…"

"They are."

His tone was unyielding. He knew what he was talking about, and did not want Buffy to underestimate the stuffy tweed-clad men who in reality could be every bit as deadly as any demon she had ever faced.

"They'll use whatever or whoever they can to get to you, Buffy. We need to get to Joyce and Dawn before – what?" He stopped suddenly, frowning at the look on her face.

"My friends. They're not safe, either, then." Her tone was flat, a statement, but her eyes were questioning, searching his anxiously.

Honestly, the safety of Buffy's friends had not even occurred to Spike. The only ones he really cared about in this situation were Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn. But he knew that it would be impossible to get Buffy out of town and to safety if she thought her friends were in danger.

For a brief moment he considered lying – but something told him that if he did, and Buffys' friends got hurt because of it, his Buffy could turn out to be even scarier than her alter ego.

"No," he admitted quietly. "They're not."

Buffy swore softly under her breath, turning away for a moment in frustration before quickly regathering her thoughts and turning back to face him. "Okay," she said decisively. "We need to get everybody together in a safe place and come up with a plan. Where's someplace close by that the Council wouldn't think to look?"

Spike thought hard – but only one place came to mind – the last place he wanted to go at the moment. But none of the Scoobies' homes or dorm rooms were safe, and the Council would check the local hotels as soon as they realized that their target and her friends had all left their homes. It seemed that there was nothing to be done but to simply accept this cruel quirk of fate that seemed determined to bring him back to a place that had seen so many of his most painful moments.

"The mansion?" he suggested quietly, a note of defeat and resignation to his voice.

Missing it completely, seeing only the chance to protect her loved ones, Buffy's face lit up in a brilliant smile – and the grateful look in her eyes, sparkling with happy relief, made it worth the painful trip down memory lane that Spike knew he was about to take.

"Spike, that's perfect!" she exclaimed appreciatively. "It's abandoned, so it won't be listed anywhere, and they're not familiar with Sunnydale, so they won't know to look for it! We can go there at least long enough to come up with some kind of a decent plan."

Spike forced himself to return her smile, though in truth he felt a little sick at the thought of returning to that place – the place where he had spent so much time being mocked and mistreated by his own family, and where just a few nights before he had relinquished control over his whole unlife – his very self – forever.

Buffy seemed too caught up in her own worries to notice his pain and uncertainty.

"Okay," she went on, thinking out her plan as she went along. "We need to wake up Giles and have him go get the others in his car. Then you can…"

"Buffy," he interrupted cautiously, his eyes focused on hers. "Maybe that's – not the best idea…"

He had already determined that until Buffy had a better handle on controlling her situation, the wisest thing for him to do was to do his best to be submissive to her – to not provoke the violence within her that seemed to erupt every time he argued with her, or disobeyed her, or spoke in a way that even vaguely resembled giving her an order.

That, in combination with the fact that he knew she was just going to hate what he was about to tell her, made him very apprehensive to speak at all.

"What? Why not?" Buffy frowned, confused.

"Buffy – love – how can we be completely sure – well – your Watcher…he's the one who called the bloody Council to begin with, right?" He struggled to find the right words – which, at the moment, would be any words that would not get him knocked across the room by the Slayer's fist.

"Well – yeah – but he only did it to help. He had no idea they were going to react like this to – to whatever it is that's happening to me." Her tone was suddenly defensive, as she realized what it was that he was suggesting. "And Giles told me that he was going to be very vague when he talked to them, so they wouldn't figure out exactly what's going on, so chances are they don't have a clue and aren't even coming here!"

She stepped back suddenly, her arms crossed over her chest in a challenging way, her eyebrows raised in a question, as she concluded.

"I'm already leaving town, having all my friends leave too, because the Council might be after me, for some reason I have yet to be told, because you supposedly know what's going on here – even though you haven't told me yet. I'm actually taking a lot on faith, here, Spike – so don't even suggest that I leave my Watcher here for those 'incredibly dangerous' scholar types to hurt when they find out I'm gone!"

Her attitude shattered as quickly as it had developed when she saw the flash of fear in his eyes at her rising anger. Or at least – it had been rising. Until it was smothered under the weight of a massive load of guilt.

She quickly closed the distance between them, her expression softening with compassion and remorse, as she put her arms gently around him. She felt him tense up at first when she touched him – but then slowly relax again as she made no move to hurt him – just held him close to her.

"I'm not gonna hurt you if you do, though," she added softly, her tone revealing that she knew his fears which he had tried to conceal.

He lowered his head slightly, his eyes averted in shame.

She raised a hand to tenderly touch his cheek, gently tipping his head back up to meet his eyes. She saw such confusion and uncertainty there – it was simply heart-breaking. Having no words – knowing that he would not, either – she did the only thing she knew to do.

She kissed him.

Slowly, thoroughly, she used her mouth to reassure him where her words would not. As she kissed him, her mind gently probed at the edges of his thoughts and emotions, trying to get him to open up to her, to allow her to read the things in his heart that he could not put into words. And hesitantly, he yielded to the gentle pressure she was exerting, opening his mind to her and allowing her to see the tumult of emotions that he could not describe.

She could have pushed him. She could have forced through his walls and seen whatever she desired, with or without his consent. The one-sided nature of the claim would have allowed it.

But it would only have broken him again – and that was not what she wanted.

As it was, and quite by accident, she still saw more than he had intended for her to see – though she did not reveal that she had seen it. She only responded to his openness, his vulnerability, by opening her heart to him as well – showing him that she truly did care for him, and meant him no harm, and would never hurt him again as long as it was in her power to stop it.

When she finally broke the kiss, he met her eyes, love and devotion shining in his own. Her smile was warm, reassuring, as she said softly, "I know you're worried about trusting Giles – but – I'm putting a lot of trust in you here. I do trust you. And I know it sounds absolutely idiotic to even say this, but – when it comes to Giles – I need you to trust me, too. I know that's hard – but please try. I know that if Giles did give them information that ended up making them come after me – it was by accident, and with good intentions. He's defied the Council for me before, and he's not really on good terms with them right now, because of me. I can't just leave him here for them to find him, if they're really as dangerous as you say there are."

He did not think she was making the right choice. And she was right – trusting her at all came very hard to him at the moment. But he nodded slowly in resignation, accepting her decision.

This was her bloody show, after all. It wasn't as if he really had much choice.

"Okay – I'm gonna wake up Giles, and send him after the others – and I want you to go to my house and get Mom and Dawnie…"

He frowned. "And where are you going to be?" he asked.

She smiled at the note of protective concern in his voice, reaching up to touch his face again, pulling him down for another kiss before replying quietly, "I've just got some things I need to do. To get the mansion ready, if we're gonna be staying there overnight. That sort of thing."

He nodded slowly. He felt that she was telling him the truth – and yet, that there was something she was not telling him, though he couldn't fathom what it might be.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath in preparation as she stared with grim resignation toward the door leading into the store.

"Let's go wake Giles. He is so not gonna like this!"

The Watcher had certainly not been pleased by what they had to tell him – not one bit.

But then, Spike thought darkly as he made his way up Buffy's front porch steps, he had not been all that bloody thrilled to tell him, either.

Buffy had insisted, and Giles had blustered about for a few minutes, telling Buffy that Spike probably was making it up, probably knew nothing about the Council at all, that the Council were no danger to her and would never do anything to hurt their own Slayer.

At that point – he and his argument had lost their credibility completely with the Slayer, as a moment about a year earlier when she and her mother had both nearly been killed because of the Council's underwhelming concern for the well-being of their Slayer came to her mind.

She had proceeded to take over the conversation at that point, telling Giles that if he refused to help her, she would take Spike and her family and leave town, and he would have no idea where they had gone – though she much preferred that he would help her.

In the end, Giles had agreed to go along with her plan at least long enough to get everyone to safety and hear what Spike had to say.

"This had better be good," she had whispered to him as Giles had headed out to his car.

"Good" was hardly the word for it.

Spike cursed softly when he noticed that every light in the Summers' home appeared to be turned on. He could hear the raised voice of an agitated teenage girl, could see the shadows of Joyce and Dawn as they stood in the living room, Dawn punctuating her nearly frantic words with emphatic hand gestures.

Joyce seemed to be trying to calm her, from the low, soothing tone his enhanced hearing could just barely make out – but she was obviously a bit scared herself.

Ooookay…so much for them sleeping right through and never knowing you were gone…right, then…into the lion's den, mate…

With a visibly trembling hand, he reached out and knocked softly on the door.

A mere moment later it was flung open, before Joyce could caution her emotional youngest daughter, who did not seem to care at the moment that this was Sunnydale, and literally anything could be on the other side of her front door.

Spike had no time to prepare an explanation or a defense before he was faced with a tearful, red-faced, hopeful, terrified Dawn Summers, standing before him, holding onto the door she had just opened.

For a long moment neither said anything, just stared at each other. Spike opened his mouth to speak, then realized he was not sure what to say.

And then Dawn's eyes narrowed, as an expression of fury that seemed to be carried down through all generations of Summers' women – one with which Spike had become familiar with in many ways – came over her face.

Fortunately, the tears of relief and fear streaming down her face as she spoke took the venom from her string of threats.

"Oh. My. God. Spike, you are so completely dead. Like deader than you already are. Like you are going to so wish you were really dead by the time I get done making you dead! I can't believe that you would…"

"Spike?" Joyce pushed past her daughter as soon as she realized that it was him, before he could react at all, enveloping him in a tight hug that surprised him with its strength. "Oh my God, you're all right! We thought – we had no idea – we thought maybe Buffy had…" She pulled away from him, looking him over carefully, still holding onto him as if she was afraid that if she did not, he might disappear again.

"You are all right, aren't you?" she asked, her keen eyes narrowing as she made out the nearly faded bruise on his cheek where Buffy had hit him in the training room.

With any luck, she would simply assume it was a remaining trace of the bruises from that morning in the kitchen. She had no true understanding of vampire healing, as far as Spike knew. He nodded slowly, holding her eyes – and his breath, as he waited to see if it would work. It should; the bruise was almost completely gone.

Almost – but not quite enough.

Joyce's lips quirked upward on one side in a skeptical little half-smile. "Good," she said quietly, her tone revealing that she did not believe him at all. "Now get in this house."

Bloody hell.

She was using her "angry mom" tone – and although he was well over a century old and capable of tossing her across the room if he took the notion – it was still quite effective.

"Joyce," he began quietly, surprised at the slight break in his voice. "let me explain…"

"I will most definitely 'let you explain', Spike," Joyce replied calmly, taking him by the hand and leading him to the living room sofa, sitting down and patting the seat beside her as she smiled up at him expectantly. "In fact, I kind of think that's all you'll be doing for the next hour or so…"

He surprised her when he pulled his hand gently but firmly out of hers, shaking his head emphatically. "I will explain everything," he reiterated slowly, firmly, holding her gaze to assure her that he meant it. "But not here. Joyce – we have to get out of here. Now."

The expression on Joyce's face changed in an instant, from anger to concern, as she realized immediately that there was more to this situation than she was aware of.

"What's happened?" she asked softly.

"There's no time, Joyce. You're in danger here, and we have to move quickly. I'll tell you when we get there. No sense telling the story more than once," he replied with a weary sigh.

"Where are we going?" Joyce asked, rising from the couch, waiting on his response before moving again.

"Someplace safe. And you may not be able to come back here for – a few days, at least…"

Joyce did not question. Although, at times like this, she had her doubts about Spike's judgment when it came to placing himself in dangerous situations – she trusted him completely with her own safety and that of her daughter.

"Dawn," she said quietly, heading toward her room. "Go to your room and pack."

Dawn stared at her for a moment, before looking at Spike, seeing the worry and resolution in his eyes – and without a word of protest or question, she headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

And Spike sank down on the sofa with his head in his hands, snatching at what little bit of rest he could get, and what might be the last for a while – as he waited for them to return.


	46. Chapter 45

"So – how bad was she this time?"

Joyce's question came softly from the front passenger seat of Spike's battered old DeSoto, too softly for her sleepy young daughter in the backseat to hear, especially over the music that Spike had deliberately directed to the back speakers only, in order to prevent Dawn from hearing the conversation that he knew Joyce would insist on having, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it.

He was silent for a long moment, just staring straight ahead through the windshield as he sped through Sunnydale's darkened residential streets toward the mansion on the other side of town.

He had decided that it would be faster to take his car to the Summers' house to pick up Joyce and Dawn and their luggage – not to mention much safer than attempting to escort them and all their baggage on foot through Sunnydale at night.

He took a moment to consider the question, swallowing back a hard knot of painful emotions that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat.

How bad had Buffy been this time?

Her cruel, vicious words and the violent fury that had accompanied them played over again in his head, as the automatic answer – the one he really felt, but could not bring himself to give Joyce – echoed through his mind.

Worse than ever.

And yet, despite the escalating nature of Buffy's violent, out-of-control episodes – progress had been made tonight – a very significant progress.

"Better," he replied quietly, with a nod and a hesitant half-smile.

Joyce did not respond at all, until he glanced at her – to see her flat, skeptical expression that told him how very difficult to believe she was finding his story.

"Really!" he insisted, a bit too defensively. "She was!" He paused, his eyes returning to the road before he added softly, "In the end."

Joyce studied the expression on the vampire's face for a moment before asking for clarification. "In the end?" she echoed quietly.

Spike took a deep breath. "In the end – she beat it back. Twice, actually. She managed to stop it before – before it went too far. She's getting control of it."

"I don't want her to 'get control of it'," Joyce said, her voice low and dark with anger at whatever this thing was that was hurting her family in so many ways. "I want her to get rid of it."

"That – might not be so easy, Joyce," Spike told her in a slow, cautious voice. "There's a lot of things you don't know yet – and I'll explain it all when we get there – but for now – it's good that Buffy's learning how to handle the situation."

Joyce just looked at him for a long moment, easily seeing through his attempt at positive thinking to the genuine fear and uncertainty beneath it.

She reached out a gentle hand toward his bruised cheek, pointing out softly, "But not before she managed to hurt you again."

He flinched slightly away from her hand, so near to his face, unsettling after all he had been through – immediately cursing himself for his body's involuntary reaction to the fear and tension of the past few days.

"She's learning to control it, I told you that!" he snapped, a bit irritably. "Doesn't mean she's worked out all the bloody kinks yet! It's – it's bloody hard to do, Joyce! And I think she's doing well, all things considered. The fact that she managed to control it at all is amazing, so don't be blaming her for something that's not her fault!"

Joyce felt a heavy sense of foreboding in her heart at the tone with which Spike was talking to her – defensive and protective of his mate; that much she had expected before she had ever opened her mouth. But he was almost speaking as if he knew exactly what Buffy was going through, and what it was like for her – through experience.

Her eyes widened suddenly, and shot back up to his face in alarm. "Spike – she hasn't been – I mean – she's not – a vampire, is she?"

"Yeah," he huffed softly, his tone bitter and resentful with his unsteady emotions, already on edge due to Joyce's tender, compassionate words and actions. "Cause that would be the end of the world. Can't think of anything worse than having your golden girl lowered to the level of someone like…"

"Spike!" Joyce's sharp voice cut him off before he could finish the beginning of his self-pitying, sarcastic monologue. "You know better than that! I'm on your side here, okay?"

"But my side is her side!" Spike burst out in frustration. "Nobody seems to understand what this is like! There's more to it than her controlling me, and violence and fear, and – and – bloody hell! She's my mate, Joyce! That's eternal!"

There was an anguished note to his voice, and Joyce could see unshed tears glittering in his eyes, even as he struggled to blink them back, to focus on the road in front of him.

"It's like – if someone hurts her – I can feel her pain. I can hear her thoughts – feel her emotions -- know her completely on a level that no one else can – and vice versa as well, Joyce. We might as well be the same bloody person, Joyce. You can't bloody well be on my side without being on hers, too!" he declared emphatically.

For a moment, there was complete silence between them, the only sound coming from the speakers behind them.

Dawn had long since fallen asleep.

"Well that's good," Joyce said softly, her eyes seeking his intently, blazing with a certainty of devotion. "Because I am on her side, too."

Spike had no response to that. He knew she was telling the truth, and that he had let his emotions get the better of him. He was not really conscious of exactly why he was so upset by everything at the moment – any more so than usual – but he knew that if he tried to relent right then he would certainly fall apart.

So he said nothing.

Joyce was silent, too, until the pulled up in front of the mansion. She waited for Spike to park the car before she laid a gentle hand on his leg, just to keep him from jumping out of the car the moment it was stopped, before she had the chance to speak her piece.

But she noticed suddenly that he did not seem overly anxious to get out of the car, staring up at the huge, dark house with wide, haunted eyes.

Before she could say anything at all, the pure gentleness of her simple touch was the undoing of the resolve that was holding the vampire together. He bowed his head, resting it on the steering wheel in front of him between his hands, tightly clenched around the wheel and shaking slightly with the strength of the emotions coursing through him.

Joyce was not really sure what was bringing on the emotional reaction he was experiencing. Maybe it was the shock of realizing what was happening to Buffy – whatever it was -- and the fear of how she and others would take it when he told them.

Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the traumatic emotional roller coaster that the night had surely been for him already – or a result of the confused, inexplicable muddle of emotions he felt for Buffy as his claimant, ranging from fear and resentment and anger, to devotion and love and a deep need to please her.

Or maybe, she thought with a flash of insight and sympathy – maybe he just really, really did not want to be here.

Buffy was just finishing the preparations she had been making for the night ahead, when she heard the engine shut off in the driveway – at the exact same moment as she felt her mate's presence. She felt an unexpected rush of excitement, and quickly left the bedroom she had been standing in – the very one where the disastrous claim had taken place to begin with – to greet Spike and her family as they came in.

Except – they didn't come in. Not immediately, anyway.

Buffy frowned, as a minute passed by, several minutes – and still she waited. She was impatient as it was, eager both to hear Spike's explanation of what was happening to her, and to have them all safe here with her – not to mention taking advantage of the special arrangements she had made for her and her mate, for later.

What could possibly be taking so long?

She was barely aware of it as her mood began to take a darker turn, as she began to feel restless and uneasy. Was he trying to stay away? Would he rather be with her mother and Dawn than with her at the moment?

Buffy might have just slid gradually into the darkness that was once again trying to take her over, with a bit more subtlety than before, without even noticing as it came upon her until it was too late – if not for the sudden, violent sense of anger and dark jealousy she felt rising up in her at the very thought of her little sister's name.

She was still in enough control of herself at the moment that the violent surge of hatred she felt inside her toward Dawn was alarming enough to make her fight back, as she realized for the first time, with a sense of horror, something that she should have already noticed, but had missed in the whirlwind of the past few days.

This thing inside her – whatever it was – held a burning hatred and resentment toward her little sister.

Buffy fought to remain in control as vicious, hateful snatches of thoughts that she knew were not her own filtered into her consciousness.

…thinks he's hers…

…not even real…

…wants him, but he's mine!

Spike's head shot up suddenly from the steering wheel, staring up toward the house with a look of apprehension on his face.

Joyce was sitting close to him, her arm around him, doing her best to soothe his troubled emotions – but she stopped talking, following his gaze for a moment before looking back at his face with a troubled frown. "What?" she asked softly. "What is it?"

"She – something's wrong," he said in a quiet, trembling voice, swallowing back a sick feeling of fear that rose up in his throat. "She – she needs – I – I think I should go…"

"No!" Joyce caught his arm, pulling him back as he tried to open the car door and get out.

He turned to face her with a look that was half startled at her attempt to stop him, and half fearful, because he just knew that if he did not get to Buffy right away, something terrible was going to happen.

"Spike," Joyce said urgently, searching his eyes, desperately hoping that she could make him see reason – because she knew she was not strong enough to physically stop him. "If she's fighting with this thing – if she's about to become dangerous again – you don't need to be with her. You should stay away!"

He gave her a sad little smile as he reached for the door again, gently shrugging off her hand. "We tried that already, love – remember?" Didn't exactly work out so well." He paused, allowing her to take that in, before adding softly, "Besides – if she really wanted me there with her, if she called me and I didn't come – she could make it every bit as bad as if I'm with her."

His eyes were shadowed as he remembered the painful torment she had placed on him, not relenting from her brutal punishment even after he had obeyed her.

But that was a completely different situation from this; his own physical safety was not what he was afraid for – not this time.

"She's not even calling me," he tried to reassure Joyce. "She's not going to hurt me…"

"If she's not even calling you, then why do you need to go?" Why don't we just wait until you – feel her get back in control?" Joyce suggested, a bit awkwardly – she was having a hard time understanding how all of this claiming business worked – but in a voice that was heavy with fear for her friend.

She just knew he was walking directly into a very dangerous situation that could be avoided if he would just listen!

"Because I can help her get control!" Spike insisted, turning to face Joyce again for a moment, hating to leave her afraid for him, but knowing that he needed to hurry. The violent rage he could feel from Buffy was steadily building while they sat here talking – and it was aimed in a very frightening direction.

"Joyce – I helped her before! I can help her fight it!" he assured her, his voice low and intent. "I just have to get in there to her, now!"

Joyce was silent for a moment, debating. "I'm going with you," she stated finally.

"No!" he argued, exasperation in his voice. "You can't leave the Bit here alone in the car – not in this part of town. Stay here, I'll be right back…"

Joyce tried again. "Then I'll take her with…"

"No!"

The single word startled Joyce with his vehemence, coming out as almost a snarl – and she jumped back slightly, her eyes wide with alarm.

"I'm sorry," Spike said immediately, his tone softening. "Joyce, I'm sorry – I just have to do this. And do not -- under any circumstances – bring Dawn into that house until I come back out here and tell you it's safe!"

Inside the mansion, Buffy was locked in a powerful struggle – all taking place within her own mind. She stood at the front door, the handle under her hand, trying with all she was worth to keep control of herself and just wait for them to come inside.

"They'll be in in just a minute," she said aloud, as if trying to remind herself. "No – Dawn is my sister – she and Spike are friends. There's no reason to feel – no reason to think…"

She's a lying little whore! She wants to take him from me!

"No!" Buffy whispered desperately. "My God, she's fourteen years old! She would never – well – she might," she conceded, remembering the obvious crushing-signs she had seen in her sister's behavior toward the gorgeous blonde vampire over the past few days – then immediately realized that those words were a mistake, when another wave of rage washed over her.

Mine! I won't let her take him!

"But she's a child! She doesn't want to take him! She doesn't even know what she wants! And Spike would never…"

She thinks he's hers! She weakens me! She's magic to weaken and bind me! She's not even real!

Buffy's mind was racing, trying to understand the strange words, knowing that they were not her own thoughts, but the thoughts of whatever it was that was trying to control her. She knew that it had to be important – but it simply didn't make sense.

Of course Dawn was real! How could she not be?

"She is real! She's my sister, and you won't make me hurt her!" Buffy said aloud, her voice low and controlled, but trembling with anger and defiance.

Kill her! the hateful voice snarled furiously, and Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of power that nearly knocked her off her feet and to the ground.

"No," she whispered desperately as she felt a sense of panic at the realization that she was losing this battle. She was not used to fighting it yet, and weary from her previous battles.

And it seemed that after a short period of forced dormancy, this thing had come back stronger than ever.

"No – Dawnie…"

'Dawnie' the voice taunted viciously, much louder now in her mind – and as if from a great distance away, Buffy saw her own hand turning the doorknob and opening the door.

Dawnie is keeping me from my full power! Kill her! As long as she lives I am bound!

Buffy wanted to argue, wanted to protest – but instead, she found herself moving out the door and onto the porch of the mansion – walking down the sidewalk toward the car, just as her mate stepped out of it and turned to face her.

His eyes widened in shock and alarm when he saw her – and she knew that he could feel the violent rage, the cruel intent pouring off of her – for once not directed at him, unless he got in her way.

Her fury was all directed at the oblivious sleeping girl in the backseat of the DeSoto.

Please – please, Spike… she tried to call out to him, unsure of whether or not he could hear her voice over the roaring of the rage that surrounded it. Please, don't let me…

Bound and imprisoned by her very existence! the voice ranted on in fury. And her blood is the key! When she's dead – I'll be free!

All Buffy could do was watch helplessly from the recesses of her own mind, as her body stalked toward the car, and desperately hope for some miracle to stop her – before she killed her own sister.


	47. Chapter 46

As the Slayer walked purposefully down the narrow walkway toward the car, Spike could feel the violent hatred pouring off of her – all directed at the innocent child, sleeping and unaware of the danger swiftly moving toward her – the girl who had become like a little sister to Spike during the past few months.

He did not understand it – it made no sense at all – but he knew what he was feeling, through the link that bound him to the furious Slayer. He did not know how it was possible – she was only a defenseless child, after all – but somehow, the powerful entity controlling Buffy at the moment saw Dawn as a threat.

The murderous rage in the Slayer's cruel glittering green eyes left no doubt in his mind that in just a few moments, she was going to do something that would leave her and her entire family devastated, when she finally returned to herself enough to realize what she had done.

Spike knew that she was physically stronger than him at the moment, due to the pain, the beatings he had been enduring at her hand over the past few days. He knew that if he attempted to fight her, to defend Dawn, she could easily stop him – and the violent, controlling nature of the creature he was facing would see such an attempt as a challenge – a challenge that he would pay dearly for.

And he knew that regardless of all that – he had to stop her. No matter what the cost to himself, he simply could not let her hurt Dawn.

He was already outside the car, standing beside the driver's door, and a couple of sideways steps placed him directly in front of the back door behind which Dawn was sleeping – just into the Slayer's path, at the moment that she reached the car.

Her narrowed, menacing eyes, focused on the car, suddenly rose to meet his, her eyebrows raised in surprise – and amusement. Clearly, she had not expected him to oppose her, not after all that she had put him through in the past few hours.

She had no idea just how much Dawn meant to him.

Spike held her gaze bravely, not backing down or moving an inch – but he felt a chill of fear sweep over him when she smiled, menace and anger in her narrowed eyes.

"You don't want to try to get in my way again – do you, Sweetheart?" she said softly, edging in nearer to him, trapping him between the car and her body. "That didn't go so well for you last time, did it?"

Yeah, well – I stopped you last time, didn't I? he thought, thinking of how he had kept her from hitting Joyce, even if it was only by distracting her attention onto himself and taking the punishment that had been meant for the Slayer's mum – and if he had to do that again, to protect Dawn – he would.

It was beginning to appear that that might be the case.

A violent wave of fury swept over him from the Slayer, and he saw rage burning in her eyes, as he realized that she had heard his thought, which had not really been directed at her. He wondered if, wherever she was trapped deep down inside herself, Buffy could hear his thoughts as well.

He knew she had heard his voice, before.

"Buffy," he spoke in a voice of quiet urgency, ignoring the threatening words and demeanor of the Slayer before him and focusing on the girl he knew was struggling to resurface, the girl who would not want to hurt him, and would never hurt her own baby sister. "Buffy, love – you have to fight this! Think of your sister, love! I know it's hard, but you just can't let this thing…"

His words were violently cut off by a vicious, breathtaking slap across his face, hard enough to knock his head back against the roof of the car behind him, as the Slayer moved in closer, one hand gripping his hair to hold him still, as her other hand edged closer to the mark of her claim.

"How dare you!" she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "Do you actually think you can stop me? That she can stop me? You can't! No one can! And once she is gone," she waved her hand in a sharp, dismissive gesture toward the car to indicate Dawn, "I'll be restored, and no one will ever be able to stop me again!"

He had no idea what she was talking about, had no idea how killing Dawn could possibly benefit the monster controlling Buffy – but he knew what it would do to his Buffy – and to Joyce, who had just gotten out of the car and was watching with confusion and fear, clearly unsure of how to react. She had missed the last words of her daughter, did not yet know of her intent to harm the helpless child in the car.

And with any luck, she never would have to.

Buffy! Spike thought urgently, reaching out mentally, emotionally, for her, hoping desperately that she could hear him over the roar of fury that surrounded her at the moment – hoping she was not too weak or too far buried to fight her way back in time. Buffy, love, please! You can do this! You can't let this happen to your sister!

His heart lurched with fear as she suddenly yanked his head to the side, exposing his throat to her. He could feel the fury rolling off of her, surrounding him, infusing him with a terrible sense of dread at her power, until all he wanted was to yield to her, to give in, to do whatever it was that she wanted of him, anything to keep her from…

"She is not my sister!" she snarled in his ear coldly, and he flinched from the hatred in her voice, though her hand in his hair did not allow him much movement. "She is nothing! Just an illusion!"

As she spoke, she smiled at his fearful reaction to her tone, her touch, allowing her fingers to glide slowly up his shoulder toward the mark, but not touching it – yet. A sick feeling of terror came over him, his body tensed and shaking with fearful anticipation of the agony she was poised to inflict on him.

Even so, he knew that he had to try to get through to Buffy; no matter what she did to him, he just couldn't let her hurt Dawn.

Buffy – please – you have to fight – you can't give in to this – you can't let her…

The Slayer suddenly yanked his head back sharply, deliberately cracking it hard against the roof of the car again, dazing him slightly with the impact. He felt his knees buckle under him, but was held up by her painful grip on his hair.

"Please!" she sneered in his ear, and the pure menace dripping from her voice made him cringe. "Do you really think she can beat me? Not this time, Baby! She can't stop me! You can't! No one can!"

His mind raced, fighting off panic as he struggled to think of a way to stop her. He had no idea if his attempts were actually getting through to Buffy or not. If they were, she had not managed to fight this thing back at all – not yet. He dared not attempt to physically fight her; he knew that he could not win at the moment, and fighting her always seemed to do nothing but increase the power of the thing inside her.

And the last thing Buffy needed if she was going to defeat this thing was for it to get any stronger than it already was.

She pressed her body in closer to him, a suggestive smile slowly coming over her face as her fingertips came within a fraction of an inch from the mark. He looked up at her, eyes wide with panic – to see a cruel, vindictive anger in her eyes – and he knew immediately what she was thinking. She could read his thoughts, know his emotions, and she knew that although he was not resisting her, he was still trying to think of a way to stop her.

And she was determined to punish him for it.

A moment later his thoughts were swallowed up in pain as she traced around the outer edge of the red, sensitive mark with her fingernail – and he bit back a cry of pain at the cruel sensations that she sent though him with the touch. He jerked back in a useless attempt to escape the pain, but she only pressed in closer, holding him immobile as she slowly worked at the mark with chilling patience, taking her time to make him suffer.

He thought that he would surely pass out from the pain, sweeping through him, consuming him like slow-burning sunlight. He was helpless to resist her, helpless to defend himself in any way, as the edges of his vision went black, and he struggled to maintain consciousness.

Buffy – Buffy – Buffy… He could do nothing but silently, desperately call her name in his mind, hoping she would somehow find the strength to stop this from happening.

But – if she was focused on him – then she couldn't be hurting Dawn, could she? he thought with an ironic sense of hope. If he could only keep her focus…

A moment later, he cursed his own traitorous thoughts, as a cruel smirk came over her face, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear, "I'm gonna kill Dawn, Spike." She drew back to gaze into his wide, fearful eyes, a bit distant by now with the agony she was causing him. "I'm gonna kill her – and then – then I'll be free."

Spike vaguely heard Joyce's soft breathing behind him, across the car, and he felt a weak, cautious sense of hope. If Joyce could just get Dawn away…

Joyce apparently had the same idea, though she had not heard Buffy's threats against her sister. Her eyes focused warily on the stranger who looked like her daughter, she moved toward the rear door, clearly intending to take Dawn out of the car that way while Buffy's attention was diverted.

"Mom," Buffy spoke a bit louder, raising her voice so her mother could hear her, though her triumphantly laughing eyes never left Spike's. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm faster, and stronger, and you'll never get her away before I catch you. Besides – do you really think I want to hurt my own little sister?" She looked up at her mother then, a wounded look in her eyes.

Joyce studied her daughter's expression intently, her heart pounding with fear. She could not imagine Buffy deliberately hurting Dawn – but she had tried to hurt her before – and Spike had made a point of telling her not to bring Dawn into the house until he had calmed Buffy down…was it possible that Buffy was a threat to her own sister?

"Joyce…" Spike gasped quickly. "Don't lis…"

Again, his attempt was cut off by a powerful fist across his face, as Buffy released her grip on his hair just long enough to strike the vicious blow – and everything went black for a few moments, as he fought desperately not to pass out.

Ignoring his words, her eyes focused on him again, Buffy continued with a casual shrug, "Besides…if you try anything, I'm gonna twist his head clean off right now. I'm getting really sick…" she shook him painfully by the hair as she went on softly, "…of his stupid behavior, anyway."

Spike could hear Joyce's heart pounding, could sense her terror – and hoped that she would handle the situation wisely. She should try to get Dawn away – if he could only keep Buffy distracted long enough…

But Joyce knew that her older daughter's words were true. There was no way she could get the groggy teenager away before her inhumanly strong and fast Slayer daughter could get to them – and in the process of trying, she could get Spike killed. She knew the best they could hope for was to be able to get through to Buffy, to help her to fight back.

Spike said he had done it before, helped her get back in control. Their best hope was that he could do it again.

The Slayer's eyes narrowed on his, and her smile became softer, yet somehow infinitely more frightening as she went on in a whisper, outside of Joyce's hearing again, "You can't stop me, Sweetie. I'm going to kill her. And then – then I'll show you what comes of defying me, you pathetic little fool!" Her voice was calm, quiet, and thus terribly unsettling, as she spoke dark, threatening words. "First – I'm gonna take out anyone who's gotten in my way – anyone who's tried to take you away from me…"

Anyone who's cared enough to try to help… he translated in his mind with a feeling of panic and despair. Anya…Joyce…God, Buffy, no!

He desperately hoped that she could hear him – but that hope was fading fast.

The Slayer nodded, but that cruel smile of satisfaction did not leave her lips, and he knew that she had read his thoughts – but he still had no indication of whether or not Buffy had heard them. This creature tormenting him did not seem to be having much of a struggle at the moment.

And then, she went on, in his head now, as she pressed down viciously on the mark, drawing a soft, pleading moan of agony from the vampire's lips. I'm gonna take you someplace quiet – private – and we're gonna talk about your attitude lately… There was a menacing, mocking quality to her mental voice that sent a shudder down his spine.

I'm going to remind you of just who you belong to…

Buffy… he thought desperately, struggling to focus his thoughts through the pain and confusion that assailed his mind from the beating she had been dealing him. Buffy…I belong to…Buffy…not you…you're not…not her…Buffy!

A fresh wave of rage assaulted him, a reaction to his quiet, weak defiance, and the pressure on his throat increased mercilessly. Once again, he felt his knees buckle, would have collapsed, had she not been holding him up. His hands grappled blindly at the car behind him, seeking purchase to keep him from falling.

Shut up! she snarled coldly – and this time, he had no choice but to obey.

Despair came over him then, finally, with the knowledge that he could not even attempt to reach Buffy anymore, forbidden to speak to her, even in his mind. Now, there was no way that he could reach her. Buffy had not managed to beat it back – not this time – and he was obviously no match for the increasingly powerful force within her.

Dawn and Joyce were at her mercy.

A cruel, victorious smirk on her face, Buffy released her grip on his hair, and his head fell back for a moment before he managed to wearily raise it up. He wondered for a moment why she had released her hold on him – before realizing that she was through playing around.

She maintained eye contact with her first victim, as she reached for the car door handle that would grant her access to her second -- intended victim. She frowned, looking down in surprise, to find that despite his weakness, despite the clear futility of the gesture, Spike had made one last ditch attempt to protect the girl in the car.

His hand covered the handle, trembling, weak, but still attempting not to let her in. His jaw was set with determination that his body was simply to broken to back up.

A slow smile came over Buffy's face, though her eyes flashed with a fire of rage, as she slowly took his wrist in her hand, easily pulling it up away from the door. In a sudden, vicious motion, she smashed his hand back hard against the metal frame of the car, and he could not suppress the cry of pain that left his lips.

She looked at him a moment longer with a sneer of disgust, before taking him by the shoulders and hurling him carelessly away from the car. He fell to the ground several yards away, badly weakened but already trying to rise. Furious, Buffy followed him, kicking him several times, knocking him further away from the car.

The last time, he did not move – just lay there, his body wracked with pain and weary from her mental abuse, desperately wishing for Buffy to return, to fight this thing off before it was too late.

Because it was clear that he would not be able to.

Glaring down at him in disgust, yet satisfied that he would not be any further opposition to her ultimate goal, Buffy turned back toward the car, which was now a good thirty feet away from her. But before she could move back toward it, the back door had opened, and a sleepy-eyed, bewildered Dawn, who had only awakened in time to see the last of her sister's violence toward her friend, stepped out and rushed toward her without thinking of the danger to herself.

"Buffy!" she cried out in alarm. "What are you doing?"

"Dawnie, no!" Joyce cried out, suddenly instinctively aware that the main danger of the situation was toward her daughter, rather than the beaten vampire on the ground. She came around the car toward her daughter, realizing with dismay that Buffy would still easily reach her before she could.

Buffy did not move for a moment, as a soft, disarming smile came over her face. Her voice was gentle, and chillingly – well, normal -- when she finally addressed her sister.

"Hey, Dawnie," she said casually, as she slowly began to walk across the lawn toward her sister. "You're up. Good. I wanted to talk to you."


	48. Chapter 48

Heedless of the danger to herself, Dawn rushed past her older sister to her friend, kneeling down beside him where he lay on the ground, broken and bleeding from Buffy's brutal attack.

"Spike!" she cried out, her voice trembling and higher than usual in her fear. "Spike – are you all right?"

The answer was painfully obvious.

The vampire could barely move from his position where the Slayer had left him, collapsed on his side, in pain from her savage kicks to his stomach and chest, and severely weakened by her cruelly intended attentions to her mark on his throat. Still dizzy and disoriented from too many blows to his head, he struggled to rise up on one arm as he saw Dawn approaching through the haze of impending darkness that clouded his vision.

Behind the oblivious teenager, concerned only with his well-being, he saw the Slayer turn slowly to face them, a cruel smile on her face, her manner still terrifyingly calm. She did not move toward them – not yet.

She was clearly in no hurry.

Spike was too badly injured to pose any threat to her, to be able to do anything at all to defend Dawn. Joyce was too far away to reach them in time.

Dawn was helpless.

"Dawn…" Spike gasped for breath, struggling to speak, choking as his own blood rose up in his throat from internal injuries that he had not realized he had, and did not want to think about just now.

Bloody hell, but she had kicked him hard!

"I'm right here, Spike," Dawn reassured him in a voice thick with emotion, tears streaming down her face, misunderstanding his concern. "You're gonna be okay!"

Over her shoulder, Spike watched with dismay as Buffy started smoothly toward them, quickly closing the few yards that separated her from her sister and her mate.

"D-dawnie!" he struggled to get the word out, his arm shaking violently with the effort to hold himself up, trying to make his eyes focus on her face. "You have to – you need to…" Another fit of coughing overwhelmed him, and his arm gave out under him, as he gasped for the breath to speak, struggling against his own suffering to warn her.

"What?" she asked softly, concern in her wide, tearful blue eyes. "What is it, Spike?"

He looked up at her, past her, his eyes focused on the looming danger behind her. Buffy was standing directly behind her sister now, a cold smile of satisfaction on her face. Though he knew the chances of Dawn's actually escaping her sister were very slim, he met her eyes and forced out a single word, a desperate, rasping whisper of warning.

"Run!"

Dawn's eyes widened, and she drew back slightly, staring at her friend as she processed the meaning of his urgent order. Suddenly, she looked up, straight ahead, as she sensed the nearness of her sister behind her, and realized the reason for Spike's warning.

He had not been the primary target of Buffy's violent rage – not this time.

She froze completely for a moment, her heart pounding with fear, her mind racing with possible outcomes for this situation. Her eyes fell again to the battered, bruised form of her badly injured friend, just as his arm gave out under him and he collapsed to the ground again.

And then – her eyes narrowed, blazing with fury, and her jaw set in determination. She did not care that Buffy planned to hurt her, and had the strength to do so. Suddenly, all she felt was a powerful, protective surge of indignant anger at what had been done to her friend.

Buffy saw none of the changes in her sister's face, or her attitude; Dawn's back was to her as she stretched out her hand toward her head. She smiled; to all appearances, the girl was too lost in her worry for Spike to be aware of the moment of her death that was swiftly falling upon her. Her fingers spread to seize the child's hair.

One quick tug and a twit – and the frail human prison that bound her would cease to exist.

She would be free – as the witch's spell should have made her…as she would be already, if there had not already been other magics at work when the spell had been cast.

Suddenly, in one surprisingly quick motion, without rising from her knees, Dawn spun around to face her, catching her wrist before she could touch her. The look in the girl's smoldering eyes, darkened to a shade of blue that was nearly midnight with the intensity of her anger, was one of grim determination as she glared up at her older, stronger sister with unflinching defiance.

The Slayer missed the look completely.

She had other things to worry about.

The instant that Dawn's hand came into contact with Buffy's arm, both girls felt a powerful jolt of energy course through them – and suddenly, Dawn could feel her sister -- buried deep inside herself, somewhere behind the black malevolence that had been acting through her, but struggling desperately to resurface – futilely.

Until now.

Alarm showed on Buffy's face, which Dawn recognized to be the emotion of the intruder in her body, as the intense battle for control over Buffy's body, her mind, began again. It was not the first time that Buffy had struggled, fought back against whatever it was that was controlling her – but this time, something was different.

This time – she was not fighting alone.

The entity did not want to give up so easily, and Buffy's arm pulled back, trying to escape her sister's grip. But Dawn held on for all she was worth, determined sapphire eyes focused on the Slayer's face, as she knew instinctively that if she let go, the battle would be lost. Somehow, as it had done before, her touch was helping to bring Buffy back into control.

An instant after she began to feel that the Slayer's greater strength was going to be too much for her – that she was going to lose her grip – Buffy suddenly stopped trying to pull away.

Her eyes closed, her jaw locked in her determined struggle not to give in to the evil that was consuming her. Slowly, as if with a great effort, she lowered her own hand to Dawn's arm, just above the hand that held her wrist, and deliberately, firmly, gripped her sister's arm – locking them together in a firm connection that she knew was likely her only hope of beating back the thing that wanted to destroy her and all that was dear to her.

Second by second, from that moment on, Dawn could feel herself getting stronger, and somehow knew that she was drawing on Buffy's strength, and Buffy on hers, but neither was getting weaker, but rather, their strength was increasing.

The sensation of absolute connection was beyond explanation.

Dawn felt joined to her sister in a way she had never imagined, close enough that she could hear her thoughts, desperate silent pleas not to let her go – could feel the determination and fear and desperation that consumed her as she fought for something that should have been hers already – mastery of her own body.

The struggle intensified; whatever the thing was that was using Buffy to do its bidding did not want to give in so easily. Dawn was aware of it as her sister's hand clutched her arm tighter, but felt no pain from the Slayer's desperately strong grip. She rather found it encouraging, evidence of what she knew had to happen if they were going to win this.

Buffy was fighting back.

Dawn followed the lead of her sister's actions, focusing all of her energy, all of her strength on pushing back the violent force that was struggling against her. She did not really know how she was doing it, but she felt as if she was physically pouring her own strength, her effort, into her sister. This was not just Buffy's fight alone.

This thing that was attacking her sister, was thus attacking her as well.

Suddenly, Buffy's eyes opened, focusing on Dawn's with a shock of clarity – as if suddenly realizing a new, incredible truth – and Dawn felt it too…the rush of insight into the situation that she knew was probably key to their situation. Both girls held on tighter, focusing all they had on the battle – combining their efforts as one.

For a brief instant, they felt as if they were one – their thoughts, emotions, flowing freely between them.

And in that instant, as suddenly as it had begun – the battle ceased.

Dawn felt the release of the tension of the fight, like a cord stretched to its limit, and finally broken, as she suddenly realized that they were no longer fighting – the struggle had ended – because nothing was fighting them anymore. Her head was spinning as she tried to comprehend what had just happened.

She was drawn back to the present moment when she felt Buffy's hand slacken on her arm, releasing her, and she watched as her sister slumped to the ground on her knees, sobbing brokenly with relief, sorrow, confusion – countless inexpressible emotions that poured from her with her tears like rain.

Dawn glanced up for a moment at the scene surrounding them.

At some point during the battle, Giles and the others had arrived, and were standing near her mother, watching silently, intently. Dawn had no idea how the whole thing must have appeared to them, but something they had seen had them transfixed, staring at the kneeling sisters with a mixture of awe and horror in their eyes.

When she looked up at them, the spell seemed to be broken, as Joyce moved across the lawn toward her daughters, kneeling on the grass beside them. Dawn moved back slightly to allow her mother access to her, as Joyce wrapped her arms around her younger daughter briefly, pulling back to look her in the eyes with anxious concern.

"You're all right," she confirmed softly, a question in her eyes.

Dawn nodded, unable to speak at the moment. There was a suspicious lump in her throat, and now that it was over, she felt her entire body begin to tremble under the comfort of her mother's touch. Joyce pulled her close again for just a moment, before pushing her back by the shoulders and looking her in the eye with an encouraging but serious smile that made Dawn want to be brave.

Joyce's other daughter needed her more at the moment.

Joyce looked over Dawn's shoulder at Spike, a frown of concern forming on her face, and Dawn turned to follow her alarmed gaze. Dawn gasped at the sight of him. He was bleeding from his mouth, his face badly bruised, and he appeared very, very pale. The dark, shining patch of grass beside his head told them why – the vampire had lost a lot of blood.

Dawn's eyes turned back to search her mother's, seeking guidance, comfort for her fears and uncertainties. She had never seen her sister so broken – and her best friend, though she knew he could not actually bleed to death, was severely hurt and in need of care.

And she had no idea how to help either of them.

Joyce looked between the barely conscious vampire and her broken, sobbing daughter – and then back at Dawn.

"Help Spike," she said quietly but firmly. "Have the others help you get him inside. It's not safe out here." She returned her gaze to her other daughter as she added, "I'll get Buffy."

Dawn saw the indecision in her mother's eyes, knew that she felt as torn as she did. She loved both Spike and her daughter very much. And in this situation, it was difficult not to be angry with Buffy – not to see Spike as the one more deserving, more in need of comfort and care.

But that did not change the fact that Buffy was her daughter.

Joyce's mother instincts were telling her what Dawn had learned through her brief but intense connection with her sister moments earlier. Joyce had not felt first hand the intensity of the struggle, the pain and terror, guilt and shame, that Dawn had felt radiating from her sister, flowing into her in those moments. Even so, as her mother, Joyce could not help but see it.

This was slowly but surely tearing Buffy apart.

So she made the difficult decision, for the moment, to focus her attentions on her daughter, reminding herself that as much as it might appear otherwise – Buffy was not the villain of the situation, but rather another victim of it. She gently wrapped her arms around her distraught daughter, holding her close to her, cradling he head against her breast, as Buffy sobbed out the terror, guilt and pain of the past few minutes.

Dawn knelt at Spike's side, reaching for the blonde vampire's hand, taking it between both of hers and trying to get his attention.

His head rolled slowly back to face her, and he struggled to open his eyes.

"Niblet?" The word came out as a barely audible whisper.

Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. He was conscious, at least – but barely.

"Spike – you're gonna be okay – we're gonna get you taken care of," she reassured him, waving frantically with her free hand for the others, who still stood a good, safe distance away, to cross the lawn and help her.

Anya was, not surprisingly, the first to reach them, crouching down beside them with a worried look on her face, though she appeared lost as to what to do to help. She was only recently human, after all, and most of her past experience had been more along the lines of causing injuries like Spike's, and worse – not so much with the healing of them.

If she had had her powers back at that moment, however – she would have gladly broken her own rules.

Giles and Willow were right behind Anya, hurrying to help at Dawn's insistence. Neither of them had much of an idea of what was going on, but knew that explanations could wait until everyone was safe inside. This was not exactly the safest part of Sunnydale, and though the Slayer was with them, she was clearly in no condition to defend herself or anyone else.

Xander stopped hesitantly beside Buffy and Joyce, just as the older woman was helping the tearful Slayer to her feet. "Is – is she all right?" he asked anxiously, his eyes wide and fearful.

Joyce had little appreciation for his concern at the moment. Xander's obsession with her daughter was obvious to her, and considering his relationship with Anya – not to mention Buffy's utter lack of interest in him in that way – Joyce was at best irritated, at worst alarmed, by Xander's continuing infatuation.

And considering that at the moment, said infatuation was contributing to Spike's state of being unconscious and helpless outside in Sunnydale at night, in a part of town frequented by various demons – most of whom would have loved the opportunity to take out the master vampire while he was weakened and unable to defend himself…

Well – Joyce's patience ran out.

"She's fine, Xander," she snapped. "Or she will be. Now, would you please go help Spike?"

Xander's expression quickly shifted from concern to derision and disbelief. "Why would I want to help him? It's bad enough we have to let the bloodsucker live – why should I care if…"

Joyce's mouth was open to speak – but before she could cut Xander off, Giles already had.

Xander was probably lucky, all things considered.

"Because whatever happens to him has a profound effect on Buffy, as we've covered before, you daft berk!" Giles snapped impatiently. "Now if you don't mind would you get over here and help me get him in the house!"

Xander looked suitably chagrined as he made his way to where Giles was already trying to lift the vampire's shoulders – nowhere near carefully enough, in Dawn's opinion.

Joyce glared after the stubborn boy, righteous anger blazing in her eyes, as Buffy leaned against her to steady her footing. When she felt her daughter suddenly tense against her, she looked at her with concern, to see Buffy staring with wide, stricken eyes at the most badly hurt victim of her most recent attack.

"Oh, God," she moaned softly, lowering her head and covering her eyes with her hand as a fresh sob rose in her throat. "Oh, God, I did that!"

Xander and Giles quickly lifted the vampire between them, and he let out a little cry of pain as they jarred his battered ribcage with the effort, almost dropping him twice before they managed to get a hold of him and start toward the door. Clearly, they were more concerned with speed than with the comfort of their charge.

After all – it wasn't as if he was an actual person.

"You freakin' morons!" Dawn snapped, frustrated and angry at their carelessness. "How'd you like it if someone smashed your ribs all up and then just dragged you around like a sack of dirt?"

Giles shot her a severe look, followed by a glance at her mother, obviously expecting Joyce to say something to her daughter about her lack of respect.

Joyce was smiling.

Dawn hurried beside the two men to hold onto Spike's hand as they made their way through the door into the mansion, laying him down as quickly as possible on a battered old sofa near the door.

The vampire's body convulsed with pain at the sudden, jarring impact, and he bit back a cry of agony, aware of Dawn's nearness, and not wanting to appear weak in front of her – as if the bone-crushing grip he had on her hand was not enough to reveal his weakness.

Or the basic inability to move of his own volition, for that matter.

He gasped for breath, trying to recover as the pain slowly passed, and Dawn relaxed a little as his grip on her hand slowly eased. He turned his head, opening his eyes to look at her, forcing a painful little smile.

"Oh, Spike," she said, her voice dangerously close to tears. "I thought she'd – I thought you were…"

"Dust?" he finished for her, raising his eyebrows pointedly before glancing down at his badly damaged, but still intact body. "Obviously not, Bit."

Dawn was too relieved and afraid and emotional at the moment to even notice the barb she would have shot back at him under other circumstances.

Weakly, Spike raised his hand to tuck a lock of disheveled dark brown hair behind her ear, and she looked up to meet his eyes through tears. He smiled as he whispered, "You're okay…that's what's important…thought she was gonna…but…but you stopped her…"

There was a wonder in his hazy blue eyes as he stared at her. "Didn't know you had it in you," he added, his voice still weak and shaky, as he struggled to go on, to try and appear okay for her benefit. "Still don't know what exactly you got in you," he amended with an attempt at a smile.

Dawn noticed with a frown of concern that he was weakening – he needed blood, and right away.

"Still," he went on, his voice barely over a whisper, his eyes slowly drifting shut. "was quite a light show you put on there, Bit…"

His head fell limply to the side, and his hand in hers dropped beside him.

"Spike! Spike!" she gasped, her eyes widening with alarm as she realized that he was unconscious again, and she looked around anxiously for her mother, knowing that Joyce would have a better idea than she did of what to do. How much blood had he lost? Had they brought any with them? How were they going to…?

Suddenly, she turned around to look at him, a frown of confusion coming over her face, as his last words before slipping back into unconsciousness registered with her, and though she knew that he could not hear her and would not respond, a single word of simple eloquence left her lips.

"Huh?"


	49. Chapter 49

Buffy had stopped crying by the time she walked into the mansion. There was too much to worry about, to figure out how to deal with, to waste time on useless, self-pitying tears. Overwhelming guilt swept over her as her eyes fell on the unconscious form of the vampire across the room, laid out on the sofa and mostly ignored at the moment by the other occupants of the room.

Dawn sat by his side in a small wooden chair, holding his hand, unaware yet that they had entered the house, her eyes focused solemnly and fearfully on the battered, bloodied form of her best friend.

Yeah, Buffy – like you've got a reason to cry! she berated herself silently, suddenly filled with disgust and anger at herself for what she had done, whether she had meant to or not.

Xander and Giles were completely unconcerned with the condition of the battered vampire, and met her as she and her mother were coming in the door, both talking at once as they tried to get her attention.

A few yards away, Anya was standing with Willow, talking emphatically in an animated tone; they seemed to be having an argument. Buffy noticed Willow shaking her head adamantly. Apparently, Anya was trying to convince her to do something that she did not want to do, though Buffy had no idea what that might be.

By the desperate, sidelong looks Willow was casting her way – Buffy had a feeling it would not be long before she knew.

"Mom!" Dawn called out the moment she realized that they had come in. "Come here!"

Buffy went automatically to follow her mother to Spike's side, but was stopped by Giles.

"Buffy – are you quite all right?" he asked, his eyes focused on hers in a frown of obvious concern, as he took her arm and stopped her progress toward the vampire across the room.

She watched her mother continue on to talk to her sister, with more than a little irritation, because she wanted to be there too – but would Spike even want her there at the moment? And what was Giles saying to her now, anyway? He was asking her something about Dawn, and what the two of them had done, and how did she feel now…?

Did he really expect her to have any answers to this situation? -- because all that the unbelievable events of the past couple of hours had left her with was more questions.

She finally met her Watcher's eyes, looking up at him so suddenly that he stopped talking for a moment, as Spike's warning, his concerns, from earlier came back to her. She wondered momentarily if Spike's suspicions regarding Giles and the Watcher's Council could have any grain of truth to them.

Should she even be trusting this man at all?

Xander used Giles' silence as a chance to throw his own two cents worth in. "Buffy – what was that out there? That was amazing! Did you beat it? Is the thing gone now? Is it over?"

Between the two of them and their almost frantic questions, and the swirling confusion of thoughts and emotions in her mind, Buffy had never felt so cornered and claustrophobic in her life.

Why won't they all just back off and stop talking? she wondered desperately. I don't have any answers, I don't have a clue, I just need to think -- why won't everybody just…

"Okay, everybody just shut up!"

Her mother's strong, authoritative voice startled her out of her reverie – and was clearly convincing enough to make everyone else take notice as well. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned expectantly to where Joyce stood beside the couch. Buffy stared at her mother, stunned and a bit awed by the determined, angry fire she saw in her eyes.

"We've got a lot to handle here, and maybe not a lot of time to do it in, so standing around and speculating about the situation is not going to accomplish anything – and neither is giving Buffy the third degree about what happened out there. I'm sure she's every bit as confused and shaken up as we all are – more, in fact – and could use a little space at the moment."

Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude to her mother for saying what she had not wanted to have to say herself, as she looked down, avoiding the questioning looks that Giles and Xander gave her. Her refusal to meet their eyes was confirmation enough that Joyce's assessment was accurate, and both men, thankfully, stepped back a bit, giving the traumatized Slayer room to breathe.

"Now, first things first," Joyce went on, her voice calmer, but still strong and commanding. "Spike is very badly hurt. We need to…"

"How is that putting 'first things first', exactly?" Xander broke in, indignant. "I think out of all the things we have to worry about, the evil dead over there should be last priority. Why should we…?"

"Xander Harris," Joyce broke in sharply, and the boy immediately stopped talking.

She had used her "mom voice" – he really had very little choice.

"I am not your mother, but I still think that I'm deserving of a little bit of your respect. I was talking. If you could not interrupt me, I'd appreciate it."

Embarrassed by the deserved reprimand, Xander muttered defensively, "Sorry, Joyce. I just – don't see why it matters so much."

"It matters," Giles interjected in a tone of irritation and impatience, "because apparently Spike knows something important about what is happening to Buffy, and if he does possess such knowledge, then…"

"No, it matters," Joyce cut him off, her eyes blazing with fury as she stalked across the room to face him, her eyes meeting his in a challenge, "because Spike is a person -- a person who just placed himself in terrible danger to protect my baby girl, for that matter. He stood up to that – that thing that's trying to take over Buffy -- knowing that he couldn't really fight he – that she could kill him – and if he hadn't, then my little girl – Dawnie could be…"

Her voice broke off, as her powerful emotions momentarily got the better of her, and she stepped back a bit, looking away from Giles as she struggled for control of her emotions and the room fell silent around her.

Buffy looked automatically toward her little sister, still clasping Spike's limp hand in hers, though she was half-turned and watching and listening to her mother. Though there was no longer any anger or accusation in Dawn's solemn gaze – not now that she knew what her sister was struggling with – Buffy felt condemned, and could not hold the younger girl's gaze.

Her face grew hot with shame, as she stared at the floor and swallowed back a hard lump of tears that had formed in her throat. Not only had she brutalized Spike without mercy, but she had almost killed her own little sister. In her guilt, she imagined that they were all staring at her, all blaming her for the horrible things she had done.

But that was not the case at all.

Most of the group had missed too much of what had happened, and were simply too confused by what they had seen, to know who to blame for any of it, if anyone – and those who would have sought to lay blame would surely have attempted to lay it on Spike. They had not taken Buffy's abuse of the vampire very seriously thus far, and had not witnessed her attack on her little sister.

But the beaten, broken creature on the couch was evidence that this had gone far beyond the usual "punch in the nose to shut Spike up" approach that they had all become used to seeing Buffy use – and if what Joyce was saying was true, Buffy had beaten him so severely only because he had been trying to prevent her from hurting Dawn.

The primary emotion of the moment was not anger or blame, but rather confusion.

They did not know what to think – what was going on – and they wouldn't, until the whole situation could be explained.

"Okay," Joyce spoke softly when it was clear that no one else had anything to say, and in the stillness, her quiet voice was easily heard. "The way I see it, we have too very important matters to take care of here. First of all – in any situation like this, the first priority is to care for anyone who's hurt. After that, we can figure out what we know so far, what the situation is exactly – basically, why we're all here."

"Which we can't do until Spike wakes up," Giles quietly inserted, obviously attempting to be helpful – but he immediately fell silent again when Joyce shot him a disgusted glare that told him clearly that she felt his priorities were badly misplaced.

"Anybody hurt?" Joyce asked, looking around the room at each of them, her eyebrows raised in a challengingly expectant look.

No one said a word, or even dared to meet her gaze.

Her point was very clear.

"Good," Joyce said in a quietly decisive voice, nodding her satisfaction. "Then I guess it's obvious what our priority should be right now, isn't it?"

No one said a word, and Joyce knew that the silence was as close as she was going to get to an agreement from most of them. So, she took it for what it was worth and went into action.

She crossed the room to Spike's side and carefully reached into the pocket of his duster, feeling around until she found what she was looking for. Taking out Spike's car keys, she walked back across the room to face her older daughter.

"There's a first aid kit in the backseat floorboard, and a cooler in the trunk. Please bring them in."

Xander looked up at her sharply at her words, and she returned his gaze as Buffy nodded, took the keys and hurried to obey. The boy knew better than to question the contents of the cooler aloud, though his accusing look said that he wanted to. Joyce held his gaze defiantly for a moment longer before turning to go back to Spike's side. 

"Xander, Giles – help me move him. I already looked, and there's a perfectly all right bed in the next room. We need to make him more comfortable – and he doesn't need a dozen pairs of eyes staring at him while we're trying to help him," Joyce said curtly, but not unkindly – and amazingly, both men moved to obey without question.

Dawn gazed up at her mother through wide, barely believing eyes, as she stood up from her seat beside the couch to move out of the way. The sense of awe she felt for her mother was growing stronger by the moment.

She and Anya followed closely beside the three people carrying the vampire into the bedroom – much more carefully this time, due to Joyce's powerful influence. Willow went along too, mostly because she wasn't sure what else to do. She wanted to help somehow, painfully aware that this was at least in part her fault, but not sure what exactly she could do.

"Willow could do a healing spell," Anya suggested anxiously, and the red-headed witch looked up at her in alarm at the words that seemed to echo her train of thought. "He's really bad, isn't he? Maybe if she just…"

"No!" Willow snapped, her green eyes wide with fear, and Joyce gave her a questioning look as they laid Spike gently down on the small bed.

This had apparently just been a spare bedroom, and the bed was little larger than a twin size – but Joyce thought that was actually better; it would give her more room to work and move as she tried to treat his wounds.

Willow continued to protest in a shaky voice, her eyes wide and full of a trapped sort of expression. "There's – there's too much magic already going on here! We have no idea exactly what kind either, so there's no way of knowing what another spell might do!"

Joyce just stared at her for a long moment, wondering why the redhead did not seem to be able to hold her gaze. Then she decide that they had bigger things to worry about at the moment. Spike was still bleeding badly, and was obviously desperately in need of help. Besides, from what she had learned in her short time of being the Slayer's mom – or rather of knowing that she was the Slayer's mom – Joyce knew that what Willow said was true.

It could be dangerous to mix magics like that.

Besides, she knew Spike well enough to know that he had never been the biggest fan of magic, and would certainly rather that they try their best to help him without using it.

"That's fine, Willow," she said absently, barely noticing as the witch let out a deep breath of relief and hurried out into the living room again.

Joyce's attention was already focused back on Spike.

"Is there – anything I can do?" Giles asked politely – and his tone made it clear that he was just being polite.

"Yes," Joyce said calmly. "Please leave the room. Like I said – this isn't a job for a dozen people."

Giles stared at her for a moment, his jaw setting momentarily with irritation at her dismissal; he was not a man who was used to being dismissed so easily. But without a word, he turned and left the room as she had requested, and Xander followed him.

Dawn assumed – correctly – that the command was not meant for her, and resumed her spot by Spike's side, on the opposite side of the bed from her mother, sitting on the edge of a bedside chair and turning her attention to her friend. She glanced up with a frown at Anya, who was heading toward the door, a bit reluctantly, but with an air of acceptance.

"Anya."

She stopped at the sound of Joyce's voice, turning around with a hopeful smile on her face.

"Please stay."

Joyce met her eyes with a warm but tired smile, beckoning her back over to help them. Honestly, she did not know what the ex-vengeance demon would be able to do to help – but she did know that she had tried to help Spike before. She remembered the story Spike had told her, and how Anya had been the first one to actually make an effort to protect him from his abusive mate.

Anya's eyes shone with gratitude as she moved quickly back to the bed, standing beside Joyce and looking up at her with expectant resolve as she spoke softly.

"What can I do to help?"

Buffy hurried back inside on trembling legs, the first aid kit balanced a bit precariously on top of the heavy cooler – surprisingly heavy, in fact. She knew that her mother had brought a supply of pig's blood from the house along for Spike in the cooler – but from the feel of it she might just have brought the whole pig.

When she got back inside, a surprisingly sullen Willow directed her toward the bedroom they had taken Spike to – to Buffy's relief, not the same one she had shared with him on that fateful night they had spent here, but a smaller room on the other side of the house.

She paused just inside the bedroom door, taking in the scene before her.

Between the two of them, Joyce and Anya had managed to get Spike out of his duster and shirt, though he was still unconscious. Joyce seemed to be taking stock of his injuries, looking him over and feeling cautiously for broken bones, and did not notice her older daughter's slow, cautious approach.

Buffy watched as her mother quickly took off the soft cotton overshirt she was wearing and began tearing it into strips. Apparently she felt that they would need more than the small packet of bandages that was ordinarily kept in the first aid kit.

Buffy lowered wide, sobered emerald eyes, steeling herself to take in the sight of the damage she had inflicted on her mate – and gasped in shock and horror.

It was worse than she had expected.

His face was bruised and bloodied by her fists, and the back of his hand, lying listlessly at his side, was black and blue and simply shattered from where she had cruelly crushed it against the car door, in a deliberate attempt to cause him pain – to punish him for a simple gesture intended to protect her helpless little sister.

Buffy felt sick at the memory.

But that was not the worst of what she had done.

What was most upsetting of all, what had caused Buffy's reaction of dismay, was the terrible purple bruising around his ribcage. His lower torso was basically just one massive purple bruise, from the many savage kicks she had dealt him while he lay on the ground, utterly helpless and unable to defend himself.

Her eyes widened in alarm as they were drawn to her mother's working hands, gently blotting up the thin trickle of blood that still flowed, slowly but steadily, from the side of the vampire's mouth – and she knew that there should have been more of it.

Internal bleeding.

The words flashed into her mind in a moment of understanding, as she realized what it was that she was seeing. Her brutality had caused internal injuries that were draining him, slowly but surely, of the borrowed blood that was keeping him alive. She did not know what happened to a vampire that was completely drained of blood – but she did not want to find out.

She quickly drew herself from her thoughts and set the cooler down, kneeling in front of it and opening it. Her eyes widened again at yet another surprise, as she saw the tremendous amount of blood her mother had brought for Spike. They had not had time to stop somewhere on their way to the mansion.

Joyce must have had all this blood on hand for Spike already, at the house.

Buffy looked up at her mother through fresh sight, taking in her busy, nervously trembling hands, her slightly disheveled hair, falling loose as she worked, and framing intent, troubled blue eyes full of fear, worry – and love.

Her mother really loved Spike.

Buffy had known it before, but somehow, in that moment of clarity, the knowledge became more real to her – and it was a comforting, reassuring thought.

Joyce looked up and caught her eyes, pausing for a moment as she took in the various emotions unusually obvious on her daughter's face. After a moment, she snapped out of her thoughts and spoke in a mildly reproving voice.

"It doesn't do him much good sitting in the cooler, does it, Buffy?"

It was the gentle reminded Buffy needed to pull her back to the seriousness of the present moment, and the intense need she had created. Buffy took out one of the bags and cut the corner open with the small pair of scissors from the first aid kit, rising and going to Spike's side to hold the bag to the vampire's lips.

She had hoped that the scent would help to rouse him – but there was no response at all.

"He's not gonna want it," Joyce said softly. "It's cold."

Buffy felt an odd little twinge of regret at just another reminder of how well Joyce knew Spike – and how much better she could have known him by now, if she had tried, instead of treating him so cruelly.

Even before the claim from hell – she had been terribly cruel to him.

"He doesn't have to want it," she said in a quiet, grim voice of resolve, pushing back her own guilt for the moment and focusing on Spike, and helping him. "He just has to drink it."

She gently parted Spike's lips with her fingers, allowing a little of the cold pig's blood to trickle into his mouth – but he did not swallow, did not respond at all. Buffy tried again, with the same result, and the vile fluid simply ran back out of the vampire's unresponsive mouth.

Buffy felt her frustration rising up with a sense of helplessness. How was she supposed to help him if she couldn't get him to eat? She knew that the pig's blood would not have as powerful of healing properties as human blood would, but she had to get him to eat something or he was not going to get better at all. He had lost so much blood by this point that his vampire healing did not seem to be working at all.

If only she could just make him…

Suddenly, her eyes widened in realization, as she knew what she had to do. She set the bag of pig's blood back down on the nightstand, reaching the fingers of her other hand slowly toward her mark on his throat.

She would have thought that she had pulled out a stake, judging by the reactions of her family.

"Don't!" Dawn cried out, reaching a hand toward the mark to shield it from her sister's touch, glaring up at her suspiciously.

"Buffy!" Joyce said warningly, moving to get between her daughter and the vampire. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to help him," Buffy replied, her eyes flashing with frustrated anger. Something in her stirred to life with anger at the thought of their trying to keep her from Spike – but the deadly rage that had consumed her before was buried deep now, so deep that she knew it would be a while before it could resurface again.

"Mom," she insisted when Joyce did not move, just stood there, studying her daughter's face dubiously. "I promise. I'm not gonna hurt him. I know what to do; I know how to make him drink." She paused, before adding softly, almost desperately, "I have to fix this, Mom. I have to make this better. Please."

Joyce stared at her for a moment longer, before reading the reassurance she needed in her daughter's eyes. Slowly, a bit warily, she moved out of her way, though she stayed close by in case she was needed.

Buffy moved in close to Spike again, reaching out a hand to gently brush over the mark on his throat. "Wake up," she whispered, focusing all of her energy, all of her strength, on her mate.

If she could share emotions, thoughts, sensations – perhaps she could share a bit of her strength, as well.

It seemed to work after a moment, when Spike let out a soft moan, his eyes fluttering open, unfocused at first, until he slowly became aware of who it was he was looking at.

The momentary flash of sheer terror in his eyes hurt Buffy worse than any physical pain could have – but she knew it was no less than she should expect.

It's all right, she told him silently, her mental voice soft and soothing as her finger caressed the mark on his throat in a slow, repetitively soothing circle. It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you…I want to help you, Spike…I want to make you well…but you have to do something for me…okay?

His eyes stared into hers, confused, questioning, seeking an answer, but finally, he nodded slowly, still to weak to speak aloud. Even as it was, he was operating only on borrowed strength from his mate, and his eyes almost fell closed again once or twice, as Buffy fought to keep him with her for a few moments longer.

She knew he would not have the strength in his condition, even to make the change to his game face, so she picked up the tiny pair of scissors from where she had laid it on the nightstand and quickly, before anyone could even think to stop her, made a small, straight cut on her arm, near her wrist.

Spike's eyes widened, darkening with desire, the moment the sweet, rich scent of her blood hit his nostrils. And a moment later, there was a fear in his eyes, as he searched hers anxiously, and she could feel his concerns.

Did she really want him to do this?

What would this act do to the power inside her?

What if she lost control in the middle of it? What if she was angry with him for daring to…?

"Spike," she whispered, bending her wrist slightly, so that she could bring the cut within reach of his trembling, longing lips without breaking the comforting contact with his throat. "I want you to. I do. You have to – it's the only way you're gonna get better."

She pressed the wound nearer to his waiting, desperate mouth, as she whispered a command that his desire, rather than her authority, would not allow him to refuse.

"Drink."


	50. Chapter 50

Spike stared up at Buffy for a long moment, his eyes wide and searching for some sign of uncertainty, of hesitation, any clue that she might not want to do this. He knew that if she had any doubts about allowing him to drink from her, if she felt threatened by it in any way, it could allow her to lose control of herself again.

And if the thing controlling her surfaced while he was feeding from her – there was a good chance it would be furious enough to finish him off completely.

But he was nothing in Buffy's glistening green eyes but regret, sorrow, and a sincere desperation to make right all the damage she had done to him.

"Go ahead," she whispered softly, sinking to her knees beside the bed, as her mother moved back to allow her nearer to him. Her free hand rose to gently stroke through his hair in a tender, affectionate gesture, as her thumb continued to move slowly and gently over her mark on his throat, flooding him with wave after wave of reassurance and comfort.

"It's all right, Spike. I promise. Please do this; please take it. I want – I need you to get well!"

The rich, tantalizing aroma of her blood made his mouth water with desire, and he licked his lips without realizing he was doing it. He had lost so much blood, he was so weak, needed it so badly – he felt as if he were about to dust from starvation…

…but still he hesitated.

"Buffy," he whispered. "I – I can't – please…" His faint voice trembled with fear and uncertainty, mingled with a deep longing that showed in his eyes, coated with a sheen of tears to match those in her eyes.

"Shhh," she gently soothed him, leaning in close to brush a tender kiss across his lips, before pulling back to meet his eyes. "It's okay – it's okay, I promise I'm not gonna be angry with you, Spike. I'm in control – I am – and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

She glanced sideways at her sister and added with a smile, "You can thank Dawn for that…"

Spike followed her gaze to Dawn, who was still sitting in the chair beside the bed, watching anxiously. From the look in her eyes, he could tell that she desperately wanted him to accept her sister's offer.

"I can bring her back if anything happens, Spike," the girl assured him in a quiet, trembling voice.

When Buffy saw the flash of fear in his eyes at those words, she lowered her hand gently from his hair to his cheek in a tender caress, drawing his attention back to her face – forcing herself not to flinch in pain, when he tensed at the intimate touch.

"But nothing's going to happen," she told him in a quiet, firm voice, holding his gaze. "I promise you, Spike. I want you to do this. There's nothing about this that would make me lose control anyway…I want you to."

Her thumb was still moving slowly over her mark in a soft, reassuring motion that was slowly sending a sense of security and comfort and peace through the traumatized vampire. She edged the cut on her arm nearer to his lips, but stopped a couple of inches away, not wanting to push him.

"I want you to do this," she repeated gently, gazing into his eyes intently and willing him to see that it was true. "but I won't force you. I won't do that to you, Spike. I don't want to force you to do anything, ever again. Please. Please do this for me."

Finally, the tenderness in her voice and her touch, the enticing, rich scent of the deep red fluid welling from the cut on her arm, became too much for him to resist.

Spike closed his eyes, leaning just slightly closer to her, his lips parted and trembling with his need, and the slight movement that was still an exertion for him in his badly weakened condition.

Buffy immediately responded, moving her arm to meet him the moment she knew that he was accepting her offer, going the remaining distance that he could not. She gently pressed the seeping wound to his cool, damp lips, already stained with the blood he had lost from his injuries – the injuries she had inflicted on him.

Tentatively, hesitantly, his cool moist tongue darted out to caress the wound, and a soft, barely audible moan left his throat at the rich flavor, and the deep emotional connection that came along with the act of drinking from his mate. The fact that his mate also happened to be a Slayer only made the experience that much more powerful and intense.

The potent nourishment of her blood had an immediate strengthening effect on the injured vampire, and he raised a weak, trembling hand to grasp her arm, clutching it closer to his mouth as his lips pressed gently against her arm on either side of the wound.

When he began to suck gently on her broken skin, Buffy was taken off guard by the sweet shock of pleasure that went through her, and she gasped, her eyes widening for a moment – then closing as she leaned her head back, overwhelmed with a sudden rush of incredible sensation.

Joyce's eyes widened, with a bit of alarm, surprised by the unexpectedly intense reaction that both the Slayer and the vampire appeared to be having to the act they were engaged in. She was a relatively reserved woman and had not been in a relationship for a long time – but she was a woman, a woman who had had two children, and there was no mistaking the look on her daughter's face – or what she had to be feeling.

"Is that – I mean – are they – all right?" she asked in a small, uncertain voice, as Anya moved to stand beside her. "I mean – is that normal?"

"Oh, yes," the ex-demon assured her matter-of-factly, seemingly unfazed by the scene before them. "It's perfectly normal for vampires. It's because of the claim."

"The claim?" Joyce echoed blankly, her eyes still focused on her daughter, who was now breathing hard, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, a look of intense pleasure on her face.

"Yes," Anya nodded. "See, the claim gives her blood a greater potency for Spike. It's even stronger than his sire's blood would be. Because of her being his mate."

"What do you mean 'stronger'?" Joyce asked with a frown of confusion. "I don't understand."

"Well, for a vampire, the blood of their sire has healing properties, and it's also possible to share emotions and thoughts and things like that through the blood. It's also an incredible aphrodisiac. And – well – when a mating claim is performed, it completely overrides the sire's rights, and all the effects of the sire's blood pass on to the mate's blood – only – well – stronger."

She completely missed the troubled look that Joyce gave her before turning her eyes back to Buffy and then heading toward where her younger daughter still sat beside the bed, eyes wide and transfixed with wonder.

"Not to mention the fact that blood-sharing is an intensely erotically stimulating experience as it is…" Anya went on, though no one was really listening to her anymore.

"Dawnie," joyce said a bit anxiously, her eyes still focused on Buffy and Spike, who were utterly lost to the others around them. "I don't think you should be in here…"

"I have to be," Dawn replied without hesitation, still staring. "If something goes wrong, I'm the only one who can stop her."

Joyce opened her mouth to speak, but realized with dismay that her youngest was right. There was really no way that Dawn could leave Buffy alone with Spike, not until they had a better understanding of what was going on; and that would not happen until Spike was well enough to tell them all of what he knew; and that would not be until he and Buffy were finished with – whatever it was that they were doing.

For the Slayer and her vampire mate, for the moment, the rest of the world seemed to have fallen away.

Spike's fangs never descended – he never even changed his face – as he gently drank from the self-inflicted wound on her arm, savoring the sweet, heady flavor of her blood, and the flood of bittersweet emotions that it carried to him.

His fear of her changing and hurting him had vanished with the first sip of the sweet substance, as he had simply known that whatever the thing was that had been hurting him, it was buried and very much under control at the moment. He could taste none of the violent fury or jealousy or possessive rage in her blood – only concern, and affection, gratitude that he was accepting her gift – and painful regret.

But as the soft, intimate movements of his mouth on her increasingly fevered skin had intensified, he had felt the pain, the guilt and sorrow ebb away, engulfed in an overwhelming feeling of pleasure, as the experience had heightened for both of them.

The pleasure, the physical and emotional ecstasy, took the Slayer by surprise. She had only been bitten once before, by Angel – and that had been nothing like this. His bite had been desperate, rushed, as he had been nearly out of his head with sickness – and once he had bitten her, his bloodlust had taken over, with his need for the cure she alone could provide.

The experience had actually been painful, and terrifying – and had nearly resulted in her death.

This was infinitely different.

Perhaps it was the fact that Spike was her mate – or perhaps, it was the sweet, gentle care he was taking with her. The thought flooded her with a renewed warmth of affection toward the vampire, as she realized that even now, she was his top priority.

She had hurt him so badly that she had nearly drained him, leaving him near the point of death. She knew that his need for her blood was every bit as desperate as Angel's had been – and yet, he took his time, not even biting her, just gently, almost reverently accepting her offering, as an awesome gift of which he felt himself to be unworthy.

She wondered for a moment why Angel's bloodlust had been so consuming, nearly claiming her life – and Spike's was so under control, even though she knew he had to be desperate for sustenance.

As his tongue gently caressed over the cut, she felt a shudder of pleasure go down her spine at the slight stinging sensation that was almost painful, but not quite.

But then, to her surprise, he removed his mouth, and as the cool air moved across the damp spot on her arm, she was startled at the bereft, empty feeling of loss that she felt when his mouth stopped touching her.

She opened her eyes, slightly hazy and unfocused with the overwhelming sensations that were slowly fading away from her, to give him a questioning look.

He was sitting up slightly on the bed, and she suddenly realized that she was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, with one arm around his shoulders behind him, helping to hold him up.

And when exactly did that happen? she wondered, as she shifted the pillow behind his head and gently helped him to lean back against it, never breaking eye contact, her green eyes wide and wondering.

Spike's own eyes of crystal blue focused on hers with a sincere look of adoration and gratitude. "It's enough, love," he said softly in answer to her unspoken question. "Wouldn't want to hurt you."

If she had not been able to hear the genuine emotion in his voice, to see the serious look in his eyes, she might have thought he was being bitterly sarcastic – and she would not have blamed him a bit. Suddenly, she could no longer hold his gaze, as she felt the beginnings of her guilt returning. Her eyes fell to the cut on her arm, without really seeing it, as she thought back over the events of the past couple of hours.

"It'll heal up now. I sealed it to stop the bleeding," Spike explained quietly, seeing the direction of her gaze and not realizing that her small cut was the least of her concerns at the moment.

She looked back up at him, her eyes shining with tears, her hand rising again to caress down his face as she offered him a weak smile that was an attempt at encouragement.

"How do you feel?" she asked him quietly.

"Better," he nodded, looking down a bit shyly. "Be good as new before long, pet," he assured her quietly, before glancing back up at her, uncertainty in his eyes as he whispered, "Thank you."

He might as well have driven a knife through her heart, and twisted it hard.

All she could picture was herself, slamming her fist into his face, throwing him to the ground and kicking him until she had damaged him so badly that he had nearly lost his life – and all because he had committed the offense of trying to keep her from killing her own baby sister.

And he told her "thank you" for giving him what he needed to live.

Before Spike or Joyce or anyone else in the room knew what had happened, the injured vampire had a lapful of sobbing, distraught Slayer, as Buffy lowered her head across his thankfully uninjured legs, clutching them and shaking as she cried.

"I'm sorry, Spike! Spike, I'm so sorry!"

Spike stared at her for a moment in surprise, before his expression softened with compassion. "Hey, come on, now, pet," he murmured softly, as he automatically laid his arm across the Slayer's shoulder, his hand gently stroking her back in a comforting way. "There, now, love – all's well, now…no harm done…"

His comforting words, the forgiveness and acceptance in his voice, only made the Slayer cry harder.

Spike looked up at Joyce with a pleading expression in his sapphire eyes, sparkling with tears of his own at his mate's pain.

Joyce nodded slightly, understanding, as she put her arm around Dawn's shoulders. "Come on, Honey," she said softly, gesturing with her hand for Anya to come as well.

"But, Mom," Dawn protested, her voice hushed in consideration for her sister's obvious emotional state. "if Buffy…"

"She won't."

Dawn looked back at Spike in surprise at the quiet, steady sound of his voice. The solemn gaze he fixed her with was confident, certain – and suddenly, she felt a lot better about the idea of leaving the room.

But still not sure.

"Call us if…if you need us," Joyce said pointedly, her eyes meeting Spike's, but her words more for Dawn's benefit. It seemed fairly clear that Buffy was not going to become a threat at the moment.

Spike nodded slowly, without a word, as Joyce, Dawn, and Anya headed toward the bedroom door.

"Joyce," he said quietly, just as they reached it, and she turned to face him with a questioning look. His voice and expression were serious, and stronger than before, as he said with a quiet air of authority, the automatic authority of being the only person in the place who had any idea what they were dealing with.

"Make sure everyone is ready to meet in a few minutes...there's some things you all need to know…"

Joyce frowned, uncertain. "Are you going to be – okay, by then?"

Spike's glance down at his mate said plainly that he was more concerned about whether or not Buffy was going to be ready for a Scoobie meeting, than his own physical condition. Truth be told, her potent blood was starting to take effect, and he was feeling much stronger already.

" 'M already okay, love," he assured the older woman. "And we don't have any bloody time to waste."

He looked up at Joyce again as he added in a heavy voice that sent a chill down her spine at the sober note of fear it held.

"We may not have much time left at all."


	51. Chapter 51

"Buffy – Buffy, love – it's all right. Hey, now…none of that, pet…come on…look at me…"

The softness, the warmth and concern in Spike's low, soothing voice only made Buffy cry harder. After what she had done to him, how could he still have so much compassion, so much sympathy for her? Why should he even care that she was crying? He should be glad! She deserved to be miserable!

And why was she crying, anyway? she wondered with a furious sense of self-disgust. She was not the one who had been hurt; how could she sit here feeling sorry for herself when she had done so much to cause pain to the people who were most important in her life?

It caught her off guard a moment later, when she suddenly realized that she had automatically, without thinking about it, put Spike into that category -- people most important to her.

Her red-rimmed, glistening eyes widened in surprise as she finally raised her head, looking down for a moment before meeting the open, anxious blue eyes that were searching hers already, full of compassion and concern for her well-being.

The powerful feeling of affection and protectiveness that she felt toward the injured blonde vampire was overwhelming, as she stared at him, taking in the flawless features that had become so familiar to her in such a short time – the same features that she had battered so brutally.

She had nearly struck her mother that morning -- had nearly killed her own sister tonight – and yet somehow, the harm she had done to Spike seemed worse in her mind than anything else she had done since the ill-fated claim.

How and when had he come to mean so much to her?

She didn't even realize that her hand had risen to softly touch his cheek, until she caught his nearly imperceptible flinch – a bare moment before he closed his eyes, turning into her touch, instinctively seeking whatever affection she might offer him.

The guilt she felt in response felt like someone had driven a knife through her stomach.

"Spike," she whispered, sliding across the bed, nearer to him, her free hand resting on his arm. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry I hurt you…you…you mean so much to me, I would never want to…to…"

" 'S all right," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, without opening his eyes. His hand rose to rest over hers, still pressed to his cheek, and he gently held it as he turned his face to press a tender kiss to her palm. "It's all right, Buffy…you didn't mean to…"

"Spike," she spoke his name to get his attention, to stop his loyal defense of even the worst of her actions, and her voice came out a bit sharper than she had intended it to be with the strength of her emotion.

When he immediately opened his eyes, meeting hers with a flash of uncertainty that he could not disguise – it only proved the truth of her next words.

"It's not all right," she insisted in a soft, sad voice. "You shouldn't have to feel like this…"

"Buffy," he interrupted her, shaking his head slightly and holding her gaze with a soft, ironic little smile, as his hand gently squeezed hers – and she could see his need for her, the pleasure he took in her affection, before he spoke his next words.

"I always want to feel like this."

She stared at him in utter disbelief for a long moment. When she finally caught her breath again to speak, her voice was a hoarse, painful whisper.

"How can you possibly say that? After what I just did…"

"What you just did," he interrupted firmly, his smile fading to a serious expression, "was to save my life, pet. You gave me – the – the sweetest gift that you possibly could have. No one has ever done anything like that for me…it's…it's bloody amazing…"

"Yeah," Buffy scoffed bitterly, looking away, her eyes dark with self-directed anger. "Real amazing. Too bad I had to nearly kill you before I was willing to do anything to help you…"

"Buffy." His free hand closed around hers on his leg, and she was quiet waiting for him to go on. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she obeyed, apprehension mingled with sorrow in her eyes as they bravely met his.

His wide, sapphire eyes were earnest and sincere, arresting her gaze and not letting go as he spoke clearly and emphatically. "That was not you, Buffy. It wasn't. Well – not really…It's – it's bloody complicated, love, and I'm going to explain it all to you and your mates in just a few minutes – but you have to believe me when I tell you that this is not your fault. All right?"

Buffy stared at him dubiously for a long moment, her heart pounding, her mind racing to comprehend his words. A wild hope began in her heart as she thought about what he was saying. Was it possible that it was true? That all of this was so completely beyond her control that she was not really responsible for it?

The look in his eyes was anxious, expectant, and she knew that he was waiting for a response. So she forced a shaky smile to her lips, looking down at the mattress as she sniffed back her tears, and nodded resolutely in acceptance of his words.

But that acceptance did not reach her heart.

Because just at the moment that she had determined that she had to accept what he was saying, in order to make him feel better – he deserved no less than that – the truth of the matter had occurred to her anew, with undeniable truth. No matter what Spike said to try to soothe her guilt and make her feel better about things, she knew that the truth was – she was responsible for it.

If she had never gone along with the whole dominance ritual plan in the first place…

"…if you're feeling a bit better, love," Spike was talking, and she realized that she had missed the first part of what he had said, lost in her own thoughts, "we really need to get on out there. We might not have much time before those Council Wankers track us down, and we need to come up with some kind of a plan…"

Buffy nodded, still avoiding his too-perceptive eyes. "Okay," she agreed with a nod. After taking a moment to steel herself, she raised her eyes to his and asked softly, "Are you up to this, Spike?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Told you, love – feeling lots better already. Don't worry about me," he told her as she slowly rose from the bed beside him and stepped back to allow him to rise.

"Careful," Buffy warned with concern in her voice, frowning as she watched him start to get up.

"I'm just fine," he assured her, bracing his arms against the bed and cautiously attempting to rise. Against his will, he winced slightly at the pain, much less now, but still quite noticeable, that shot through his ribcage at the effort. He tried again, gasping slightly as his body protested his attempts to prove his words.

Finally, he submitted to the truth of the situation with a rueful little grimace as he looked up at her sheepishly. "Just need a little – a little help is all, pet…"

"Yeah. You're fine," she echoed flatly, moving to his side and carefully helping him to his feet, with a steadying arm around his chest, under his arms, allowing him to place most of his weight on her as he rose.

The very fact that he allowed her to help him spoke of the considerable pain he was still in.

Once he was on his feet, Buffy looked him over carefully, her pretty features forming a frown of concern. The internal bleeding had stopped, judging by the fact that he was conscious and alert and no longer bleeding from his mouth. And the bruising around his ribcage was not as livid as it had been.

But it was still there.

God, what did I do? Buffy thought again with horror and disgust at her own actions.

But she did not have time to think about it now. They had much more important things to think about.

Her mouth formed a straight, grim line as she put a gentle, steadying arm around his waist. "Can you walk?" she asked him, her eyes serious and scrutinous – and he knew that it would be difficult to hide anything from her in this mindset.

"Didn't kick me in the legs, pet…I can make it," he assured her with a grin, immediately regretting the weak and ill-timed attempt at a joke, when she flinched and looked away. "Hey," he said, turning slightly to face her and raising a hand to tilt her head up to look at him. "We talked about this. Not your fault, love."

His eyes fastened on her damp, trembling lips, and instinctively he moved toward her to kiss her.

She turned abruptly away, without pulling away from him – and suddenly, she was avoiding his gaze again.

"Buffy…"

"Come on," she cut him off, not unkindly, as she took a purposeful step toward the living room. "Let's get this done."

When the Slayer and her vampire stepped into the large, open room where the others were gathered, it was immediately obvious that Joyce had done as Spike had requested, and managed to get the whole group assembled, seated and quiet and ready for the meeting.

Well – relatively quiet.

"All I'm saying is that we can't trust him! Willow should do a truth spell or something…"

Willow opened her mouth to protest that idea, at the same moment that Giles snapped in irritation, "No! There's been enough bloody magic done lately! It would only further complicate the situation!"

"That's not the point!" Joyce broke in angrily, glaring between the two men. "A truth spell is not necessary! Spike is going to tell us the truth, anyway! I won't have you treating him like he's a – a criminal or someone that you can just -- insult like that!"

"No offense, Joyce – but murderers are criminals," Xander pointed out, her anger obvious in his bitterly sarcastic voice. "And Spike is a murderer…"

Joyce's eyes were blazing with frustrated, defensive fury as she snapped, "Spike may have done a lot of things in his past – but his chip has been down for several days now. Has he hurt anyone? No! Because Spike is…"

"Buffy's mind-slave?" Xander suggested harshly, a cruel, angry smirk on his face. "Because the way I see it, that's the only thing that's kept him from it! Spike is…"

"The only one in this room who has the first clue about what is happening to me."

The Slayer's hard voice drew all of their attention to the doorway through which Buffy and Spike had just entered the room. They were standing there taking in the little scene, her arm casually wrapped around the vampire's waist in an unconsciously protective gesture.

No one had noticed their presence until that moment. Xander at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed when he realized that they had both heard every word he had said. Giles looked a bit offended at Buffy's blatant dismissal of anything he might have had to offer in the knowledge department.

Buffy didn't care.

She was tired of her friends trying to tell her what was best for her, trying to work out what she should and shouldn't do, always in her "best interests" – but never to her benefit.

She was the Slayer – and she was ready to start acting like it.

"Okay, listen up," she said in a sharp tone that was all-business, her challenging gaze sweeping the room, making sure that she had everyone's attention as she removed her arm from around her mate, focusing on the gravity of the situation. "This is how it's gonna work."

"Spike knows something about what's going on here – why I've been doing these things, what's happening to me. And he's going to tell us. And none of you are going to insult him or threaten him or put him down or anything like that – or you'll have one very pissed off Slayer to deal with."

She was silent for a moment, taking in the looks she was getting from her friends and Watcher, reflecting various degrees of incredulous shock and offense. Her mother and sister seemed surprised as well – but in a much better way.

"There's one thing you guys have to understand," she went on, her voice a bit softer, but still leaving no room for argument. "Like it or not – whether or not it's what anyone wanted or planned on – Spike is my mate now. And that means a lot of things, most of which I don't understand."

She paused, considering before going on, "But one thing I do understand – is that he would never do anything to hurt me or my family. One of the perks about this whole mind-melding psychic connection thing we've got going on is that I can know beyond all doubt that when it comes to me and my family, he only has our best interests at heart."

She glanced at her mate, who looked a bit uncomfortable, his gaze oddly focused on the floor across the room, standing very still and just listening to her. She was not sure why – maybe the bond between them was strengthening as time went on – but although she was not touching him at all, she knew beyond all doubt that he was terribly nervous and uncertain, about how her friends would react – but mostly about how she would take his story.

Her soft, warm hand sliding into his surprised him, and he glanced uncertainly up at her, to see a gentle, reassuring smile on her face as she met his eyes, her gaze focused on him, though her quiet, certain words were directed at her friends.

"And I have his best interests at heart…and I trust him. I know he's going to tell me the truth -- so anyone who has any problem with Spike – needs to take it up with me."

When her words received only silence as a response, she reluctantly broke the connection with her mate, but still held his hand as she turned slightly and looked up and around the room again expectantly.

"Any questions?"

They were all staring at her, and no one outside her immediate family looked terribly pleased; even Anya seemed a bit uncertain about the whole situation, probably worried about the mood it was going to put Xander in.

But they were all paying attention, and no one voiced any objection.

"Okay." Buffy breathed out the word on a sigh of relief. For all her tough talk, she had still expected at least a little open resistance to her declaration.

Perhaps it was still to come.

Still holding Spike's hand, she led him with her to a wide spot on the sofa beside her sister, that Dawn had obviously been saving for them, and sat down beside him to face the group, gathered in a rough circle – all eyes focused on them.

"Okay," she repeated quietly, feeling calmer now. "Go ahead, Spike."

The vampire took a deep breath, completely unnecessary, and thus betraying his own case of nerves. Suddenly, he wondered very anxiously how Buffy was going to take what he had to say. Maybe he should have told her ahead of time, away from everyone else, and let her break it to them…maybe he was wrong…would she even believe him? What if she didn't? What if it made her angry?

And just how angry might it make her?

Her arm slipping back around him was a silent reassurance that he desperately needed, as she whispered, "Go on, Sweetheart…it's all right."

Her voice was so soft that no one else could make out her words – but Spike heard them clearly, and the sweet endearment warmed his heart…and gave him the strength he needed to proceed. In a slow voice that was quiet, but clear and steady, he began to speak.

"What do you lot know – about – the origins of the Slayer?"


	52. Chapter 52

"The – the origins of the Slayer?" Giles echoed, a puzzled frown on his face. "What could that possibly have to do with the entity that's attacking Buffy now?"

The sharp breath that Buffy drew in, the slight tightening of her arm around Spike's waist as he opened his mouth to reply, drew his attention before he could. He looked at his mate with concern – and a sudden cold feeling of apprehension, as he felt the return of the malevolent force within her, struggling for dominance of her body and mind.

"Buffy?" he said softly, hesitantly, every instinct telling him to flee – but he knew better than to actually try it.

If he attempted to get away from her now, it could be just the catalyst the cruel being within her needed to regain control.

Fortunately, Dawn was immediately aware of the danger, and reached down beside Spike to clasp her sister's hand at his side in hers.

"Come on, Buffy," she whispered intently, solemn, wary eyes focused on her sister's face. "Fight it. Fight it off."

Dawn's firm, steadying touch on her hand seemed to draw Buffy back from the edges of insanity, and she suddenly turned her hand under her sister's to clasp it tightly, her eyes closed and her jaw set with determination as she struggled. Finally, the battle consuming her seemed to pass, and she opened her eyes, looking up and around the room at the others with a weak little smile.

Her words were directed at Giles, in response to his last question, as she remarked in a quiet, shaky voice, "I guess it has a lot to do with it, Giles. Because whatever this thing is – it sure doesn't want Spike to tell us what he's about to tell us. I know that much."

She looked around the room again at them all, her eyes bright and clear and shining with excitement, as she realized aloud, "So I guess that means it must be true."

She was quiet for a moment, as everyone took that in, processing the simple truth of her statement. If the mere fact that Spike was about to tell them caused the creature inside her to attack, then what he was about to say must pose some threat to it, some reason for it to want to stop him.

"I told you he was telling the truth," Buffy reminded her friends in a voice of triumph tinged with resentment, before turning to meet Spike's eyes again. "Go ahead," she urged him gently. "What were you saying?"

She could not blame the vampire for his hesitation. His body felt so tense, tight and hard under her arm, as he gazed into her eyes, his own wide and searching, and full of an anxious, wondering fear that struck her again with a feeling of guilt.

"Buffy – are you sure? I mean," he explained softly. "I don't wanna get you – too upset. I'm not the only one you might go after, pet. Remember that," he reminded her, his eyes solemn and questioning.

"Dawn's right here. She's holding on to me, and I'm gonna be fine. You have to tell us what you know, Spike," Buffy insisted, gently but unyieldingly. "Obviously, it's the key to beating this thing. We have to know."

He knew that she was right. They wouldn't have a chance of stopping this thing unless they knew what it was that they were up against. He had no choice but to tell them what he knew.

But the knowledge that the act of telling them was going to increase the chances of the entity taking her over again, with the full intention of stopping him from revealing its secret – well, it was quite simply – bloody terrifying.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Buffy urged him gently. "It's all right. Nothing's going to happen."

Her expression was calm and confident and reassuring, and Spike reminded himself that as long as Dawn was touching her sister, from what they had seen so far, it seemed that the entity could not resurface. He took a deep breath, looking down and nodding, a bit shakily, before turning to face the group again.

"Right," he began nervously. "Okay, then. So – the first Council of Wankers – long time ago, dawn of time and all – they made the first Slayer…"

"Made her?" Anya echoed dubiously, a look of alarm on her face. "From – from what?"

Spike looked quickly to Buffy to gauge her reaction, and was not surprised to see that her eyes were wide, her expression slightly stricken, as she considered the implications that Anya had brought up.

"A girl," he replied softly, holding her gaze with reassurance in his eyes. "Just a normal girl."

"So – what did they do to this normal girl to make her the Slayer?" Willow asked, her interest in the situation drawing her out of her morose mood a bit.

"Um," Spike began cautiously, clearing his throat. "see…that's the tricky part. There was – a ritual. A rite they used to give her – power, strength, speed, instinct – all the things that make the Slayer capable of defending the world…of standing a chance against all the nasties that are out there…"

"What – sort of…of ritual?" Buffy asked, her words coming out at a slow, almost difficult pace.

Spike looked at her with a dark, wary look of alarm, watching as she shook her head as if to clear it, and then focused her eyes deliberately back on his, giving him an expectant look as she waited for him to go on.

"Well – they took – it was the essence of – of a creature…"

"What sort of creature?" Giles asked, his tone a bit sharp – but Spike was hardly listening to him.

The vampire was focused completely on the Slayer, who was closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the sofa, one hand to her forehead, as she fought for control.

"Maybe we should – should wait a bit…" he suggested softly, and there was no mistaking the fear in his voice as he shifted slightly backward across the couch, his body pulling against her arm around him, before he remembered that that was a bad idea, and forced himself to ease back toward her a bit.

"No!" Buffy looked up, forcing a smile, but her eyes looked a little hazy, and her voice was a bit labored, as she insisted, "No, I'm fine, Spike…we don't have time to wait for anything…go ahead…what sort of creature, and what did they use it for?"

Spike was silent for a moment, swallowing hard before he replied. "A – a demon. They took the essence of this – this demon that they had trapped – and they…they put it…" He stopped, struggling over the words.

She was so not going to like this.

"Inside her," he finally replied in a whisper.

The room fell silent for a long moment, as they all processed what he had just said.

And then everyone started talking at once.

"That's preposterous!" Giles insisted, indignant. "How dare you suggest that the Council would ever…"

"How would putting a demon in her make her a warrior against demons?" Willow asked with a frown, considering the ramifications of what he had said.

"Wait – are you saying that there's a demon in Buffy? Or that – that there's always been a demon in Buffy?" Joyce asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

"No…"

The Slayer's soft, horrified whisper somehow seemed to drown out all the other voices in the room – at least in Spike's ears. He looked up at her with concern when he felt her arm pull away from him, and she drew back against the couch away from him, staring at him in shock and shaking her head in denial.

"No – that's not possible," she insisted slowly, standing up from the sofa, her eyes still focused on him.

"Buffy," Dawn said, her voice trembling and urgent. "Calm down. You need to come back here…"

"Buffy," Spike attempted, his voice trembling noticeably, his eyes downcast as he fought back a sick feeling of fear that rose in his stomach. He could feel the pain, the terror, the anger of denial, rising up in his mate – and Dawn was not touching her at the moment – and he just knew that something terrible was about to happen. "Buffy, please – that's not what I'm saying…"

"Then what exactly are you saying?" she demanded defensively, backing away from him toward the center of the room. "They put this demon in this girl to make the Slayer – so – where does that leave me? What is happening to me, Spike?" By the end of her words, her voice had risen to an alarming pitch that revealed the strength of her painful emotions.

"Buffy…" Dawn had risen from the couch and was slowly, carefully moving toward her sister. "Buffy, please…you have to…you have to come to me…"

She reached her sister, whose attention was still focused on the increasingly terrified vampire on the couch, and reached out to grasp her arm gently. Buffy started to jerk away from her, but froze, listening, when Spike began to speak.

"They didn't put the demon in you, Buffy," he told her in a low, earnest voice, though his eyes were focused somewhere around her waist. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet her gaze, afraid of what he might see there.

Buffy's mind grasped desperately at that tiny seed of hope offered by his words. Maybe she had misunderstood…maybe it wasn't so bad...so…so sinister. As she forced herself to calm down, she realized with alarm that the entity she was struggling against was roiling up inside of her, struggling with a greater strength than before to regain control.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, putting her arm gently around her sister, knowing that she needed greater contact. And amazingly, as her arm wrapped around Dawn, she felt the power of the force inside her ebbing away.

Recognizing that Buffy needed to be closer to Dawn, Spike scooted down the sofa a bit as the girls approached, so that when they sat down this time, Buffy was in the middle, with her mate on one side and her sister on the other.

"I – I'm sorry, Spike. Go ahead," Buffy said, not looking at him, her eyes wide and still a bit shocked as she focused on the floor. "If they didn't – put the demon in her – what did they do, exactly?"

"They couldn't risk that…not a full-scale possession like that," Spike went on, his voice low and trembling. "The demon they were dealing with – much too powerful – too dangerous. They had to keep the demon itself trapped…but they did a spell to release a part of its essence…and…and that's what they put in the first Slayer."

"Not the demon – but – it's essence," Giles echoed slowly, frowning slightly as he processed the words.

"What's the difference – exactly?" Buffy asked, taking in a deep, steadying breath and leaning closer to her sister. She felt more in control, the closer she was to Dawn – and at the moment, though she could feel the thing inside her raging to get out – it was weak, and unable to overcome her.

"Quite a lot, actually. The essence of the demon included traits like – its strength, speed, agility – instincts that you use now to help you in battle. But the actual demon – its personality, its will – remained locked away." He paused, looking up to meet her eyes, feeling a sense of relief when it was only his Buffy that stared back at him solemnly.

"We're talking about a terribly evil creature, here, Buffy," he explained softly. "Power mad and deadly to anything that crosses its path and dares to resist it. They couldn't risk letting the actual demon free. No one would…deliberately."

"That's ridiculous!" Giles objected, anger and derision in his voice. "Bloody preposterous! Where did you get such nonsense?" He looked to Buffy for support, declaring, "He's making this up, Buffy…he's trying to deceive you!"

Buffy considered for a moment, taking in the earnest, anxious look on the vampire's face, the violence trying to rise up within her, but suppressed by the strange power her sister held to control it.

"No," she said slowly, calmly. "I really think not."

"But – it's impossible! The Slayer is a being of light and purity born to rid the world of such creatures – not by any means one of them…"

"I'm not." Buffy frowned, suddenly alarmed. "A demon. Am I?" she asked, a bit anxiously.

"No," Spike assured her. "You're not. Having its essence just gives you its – its characteristics. Some of them. But it doesn't make you a demon. You should never have even been aware of anything to do with it, if everything had gone as it was originally intended to. This demon should not have been able to take on its own personality through you, as it's been doing. It should have just given you the strengths that belong to every Slayer, without ever actually – taking over, like it's been doing."

"The releasing spell," Buffy said flatly, easily figuring it out.

Spike nodded. "Right."

One by one, all eyes eventually fell on Willow.

"Whoa -- no!" she said in a forcefully defensive tone. "I did that spell right! There is no way that it should have made this happen!" She looked to Spike as she pointed out, "If Buffy's 'source of power' is the – the essence of this demon thingy – which was so obviously already pretty much released – then how could the spell have had any effect on her? If Buffy was already using the essence of the demon to slay and all? How could something be released by the spell that was already free?"

"It wasn't," Spike explained wearily. "The essence of the demon – the part that's in every Slayer – is not the source of Buffy's power. It is Buffy's power. The source of that essence – and in effect, of the Slayer's power -- is…"

"The demon itself," Buffy concluded quietly, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the troubling realization.

"Good Lord," Giles said softly, his eyes widening as he realized, reluctantly, that the pieces to Spike's story seemed to fit together far too well to simply be coincidental.

"What…we're not actually buying this crap, are we?" Xander asked incredulously, looking back and forth between the pale, shocked face of the Watcher, and the remarkably calm, accepting face of the Slayer. "He's so making this up! There's no way that Buffy's power comes from a demon! She's good!"

"It's true, Xander," Buffy said softly. "I know it's hard to accept -- God do I know! – but – I would know if Spike was lying, like I said before. And he's not. And besides…" She hesitated for a moment before finishing quietly, "I can feel it. I know it's true."

The firm conviction in her voice left little room for argument. She was the one actually experiencing it; none of them could credibly tell her what she was feeling. As hard as it was to believe, and as much as none of them wanted it to be true, they really had no choice but to believe it.

"Okay," Buffy said quietly after a moment, looking up and around at the group, determination in her serious eyes. "So we finally know what this is. Now the only question is – how do I kill it?"

"See – there's the thing," Spike said slowly, a grimace of apprehension on his face as he met Buffy's eyes with an apology in his own for what he was about to say. His voice was cautious, hesitant, as he went on, "We -- can't kill it. It's essence is bound to yours. Is – is a part of who you are. I we destroy the demon – it would – it would destroy you as well, pet."

The room was silent for a moment, as they all took in the shock of that information.

Finally, Buffy spoke, her voice soft and carefully calm, though there was fear mingled with the acceptance in her eyes.

"This thing is pretty dangerous. We have to consider the possibility that – that maybe it's – necessary. To stop it. Whatever the cost…rather than let it hurt – anyone. Than to let it get too much control…"

"Buffy, no!" Joyce gasped in dismay as she realized what her daughter was saying.

The thought of Buffy's willingly sacrificing her own life to stop this demon was equally repulsive to Spike, but he was calmer than Joyce – because he already knew that it was not really even an option.

"No," he said quietly, shaking his head. "See – it wouldn't just be you that was sacrificed in the course of killing the thing, Buffy. This demon, as evil as it is – is the source of the Slayer's power. Every Slayer. If the demon dies – then the Slayer dies, too, when the demon's essence that's a part of her is destroyed. And not only that – but without the demon's essence to be passed on to the next girl…"

"…it's the end of the line," Giles concluded in a hushed, almost horrified voice, as he considered the ramifications of that idea.

Buffy's eyes widened as she followed that same train of thought through in her mind, her voice finally coming out in a shocked whisper.

"No more Slayers -- ever."


	53. Chapter 53

"So let me see if I've got this straight," Xander began, his agitation evident in his voice. "According to Fangface here – who we're trusting for some unknown reason that I can't figure out – Willow's spell released the ancient demon that was used to create the first Slayer, and now it's taking over Buffy anytime it feels like it and committing random acts of violence using her body – randomly. And we can't kill it, because if we do, Buffy will die too, and there won't be any more Slayers – according to Spike."

There was a moment's silence as everyone took in what he had said, processing the situation.

"That's pretty much it," Buffy stated grimly, closing her eyes for a moment and leaning her head back, a slight frown crossing her pretty features, evidence of the severe struggle that was still taking place inside her. "Thank you, Xander, oh Great Stater of Obvious and Already Stated Facts."

Xander's silence was evidence that her words had wounded him, and she looked up again wearily with an apologetic little smile.

"Sorry, Xander. It's just – we know all this already," she explained, a note of irritation to her tired voice. "Instead of looking for a way to blame Spike for this, you should be…

"I'm not," Xander interrupted, his voice quieter, subdued. "It's just – if we can't kill it – how can we beat it?"

Buffy was surprised by the genuine, serious concern in his voice – and relieved that on some level, he did seem to be accepting and dealing with the situation.

"Can't we just – reverse the spell?" Anya suggested, looking expectantly from Giles to Willow and back again. "I mean – if Willow's spell set this thing free – can't she just undo it and – and lock it back up again?"

"Yes, because simple spell reversals always go so well around here," Giles muttered sarcastically, his dark tone an indication of his worry. Still, he gave Willow a questioning look. "Was there a reversal spell in the book, specific to the spell that you used, Willow?" he asked her, a bit reluctantly, but acknowledging that it was a possible option.

"N-no," Willow answered immediately, still not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "I mean – I don't think there was. I mean – it wasn't like the ancient Romans would want a spell to put injuries and curses and stuff back on their own soldiers. The spell was designed to free them – to make them better fighters, unhindered. I don't think they ever considered needing to reverse it."

"So maybe – a binding spell? Totally separate from the original spell? To – shut this thing up in a – psychic cage or something…metaphysically…speaking…" Xander's hesitant voice trailed off, as he realized how absolutely obvious it was becoming that he knew absolutely nothing about the subject he was talking about.

"That's where it could get difficult," Giles replied, shaking his head, as he went on in a thoughtful tone, "because according to Spike's story, if we bind the demon – we may be in effect binding the Slayer as well. We need to find a way to bind it that would not in any way hurt Buffy or her powers as the Slayer."

"Yeah," Spike muttered resentfully, a sense of protective anger for his mate going through him. " 'cause heaven forbid you lose your bloody fighting machine -- that'd be a bleedin' tragedy!"

In close contact as he was with his mate, sitting beside her with her arm around him, he could feel the powerful emotions she was feeling, knew her uncertainty, her fear, the weight of her worry for her loved ones, for the whole world, at the thought of the Slayer's ceasing to exist. But buried beneath these feelings, he had also felt a trace of something he had not expected.

Hope.

He knew that in some moments, the Slayer still wished that she had never been called – that she could just be a normal girl.

"What would be tragic," Giles snapped at the vampire, drawing his attention back to the conversation, "would be for the world to lose its greatest champion! For the Slayer, its protector, to cease to exist! I'm sure for you, the state the world would fall into in a few years' time would be a bloody paradise! But for human beings, it could possibly become hell on earth, without the Slayer to fight the forces of evil!"

"Look – let's not do this, okay?" Buffy said in a terse, tired voice that revealed how very not up to refereeing she was feeling at the moment. "That's not going to happen. We're going to find a way to stop this thing without destroying the Slayer line. Now let's just calm down, and try to think about this rationally. What do we know so far?"

Spike was impressed by her calm, in spite of the struggle she was still waging, and felt a sense of admiration for her strength and courage.

"Well," Dawn offered quietly, her eyes dark and troubled, "the demon seems to freak out every time Spike resists you."

Buffy cringed inwardly at the haunted look in her little sister's eyes, speaking of the trauma she had been put through over the past couple of days.

"Do you think that's because of the claim?" Joyce guessed. "How does the claim factor into all this?"

"Well," Giles began, thinking aloud as he spoke. "I would imagine that the – the territorial nature of the demon that was released into Buffy when Willow did her spell, combined with the fact that Buffy was already beginning to engage in battle to dominate Spike anyway, somehow caused it to come about."

"So it's just because of the possession," Xander concluded, an unmistakable note of relief in his voice. "She only claimed him because she wasn't herself."

Spike flinched at that thought, swallowing back a sense of panic that rose up as a sick feeling in the back of his throat, at the thought that Buffy had never really wanted him, that she had only claimed him as her mate because of the influence of the vile thing within her. And if that was the case – who had really claimed him? Buffy? Or the demon?

Was there a difference at all?

"But – why a mating claim, then?" Joyce asked, concern and interest mingled on her face. She genuinely seemed to want to really understand. "Why did she claim Spike as her mate, instead of just doing the dominance ritual?"

"Um…" Buffy began hesitantly, raising the hand that was not wrapped around Spike's waist and clasped in Dawn's hand, with a little grimace of embarrassed apology. "…that was just me screwing up. I did the ritual wrong. I – I thought I'd already won, when I hadn't yet…and I started to…to complete the ritual before it was time. Then, when Spike…"

"That's odd."

Buffy turned uncertain eyes to the face of her mate, who had been sitting there beside her, unusually quiet, for the past few minute as they had discussed the ramifications of the mating claim. Now, his brow was creased in a pensive frown, his eyes troubled and confused – but slightly hopeful.

"What's odd?" she asked. "That I screwed up? Not so much with the odd."

"No," Spike shook his head, not reacting at all to her weak little joke. "If the demon was already in control by – by that point, then it should have known that the dominance ritual wasn't finished – that you – it – hadn't won…"

Buffy frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, that kind of thing's instinctive, love…it would have known for sure whether I was under its power or not."

Buffy considered for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. "And if it knew…being all…possessive and territorial and all, like Giles said – then it wouldn't have gone on with things until the dominance ritual was done…if it was in control."

She looked up at Giles, her eyes narrowing as she began to piece the situation together. "I told you before – I didn't think the demon was in control by the time I claimed Spike. It might have started whenever Will's spell took effect, and Spike's chip went down – but I think it took it a little while to get strong enough to actually show itself."

"But – if you weren't being controlled by anything – than why would you mate with Spike?" Xander asked, an anxious note to his voice, and Buffy winced at his crude, inaccurate wording.

In that moment – she made a decision.

"Why wouldn't I?" she shot back defiantly, glaring at her friend. "You can like it or not – but the claim – that wasn't the demon. That was me." She paused, before stating clearly and with certainty, "I claimed Spike because in that moment, even if I didn't understand it – I knew what I wanted. And I wanted him."

She turned her eyes toward her mate, who was staring at her, wide-eyed and scarcely daring to believe, his lips parted slightly in shock. 

She squeezed his waist gently and gave him a reassuring smile as she added in a voice that was just over a whisper, "I still do."

Spike swallowed hard, nearly overcome with powerful emotion, as he gazed into her eyes. After a few moments – it was too much for him, and he looked down, opening his mouth to speak, but hesitating.

"What?" Buffy gently pressed him.

"So…" he began in a soft, hushed tone, carefully considering his words as he spoke them. "so…you claimed me. Not – not the demon. I'm yours -- but not – not – the demon's…"

In an instant, Buffy felt a violent rush of fury go through her, as the creature inside her screamed its rage and struggled to surface, furious at his words. Spike immediately felt the change in her, and drew back automatically with alarm, against her arm around him. Immediately, her arm tightened around his waist, holding him in place – and he froze. He was still sore from her earlier abuse, and knew that if her grip became any tighter, he would soon be in very serious pain.

"Buffy…" he whispered, his voice trembling and fearful. "Buffy…please…"

"Buffy!" Dawn's voice was high and shrill, her eyes wide with terror as she held on tight to her sister's hand, fighting with everything in her to keep her with them. Despite the fact that she had never stopped touching Buffy, the impact of Spike's denial of the demon's claim over him was strong enough to give them quite a fight. "Buffy – hold on!"

Spike watched the Slayer's face intently through wide, terrified eyes – knew that she was fighting for control, wanting desperately to keep from hurting him – but gradually losing the fight.

"Buffy," he whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder and drawing in nearer to her, against all of his instincts screaming for flight. He lowered his head slowly to rest on her shoulder in a gesture that was both affectionate and submissive. "I'm yours, Buffy – I'm yours…" he assured her softly, his voice trembling with uncertainty and fear.

Amazingly, the effect on Buffy was immediate and powerful. All eyes in the room were focused on her, and the only sound in the room was her harsh, ragged breathing, as she gradually regained control. Between the steadying touch of her sister, and Spike's gentle, simple submission to her, Buffy was finally able to push back the Slayer-demon that was trying so hard to overcome her.

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet Spike's again, a slightly bewildered, very frightened look mingled with the relief on her face.

"Buffy…" Spike's eyes welled with unshed tears, and his voice shook in a delayed reaction of fear. "Buffy…"

He lowered his head to her shoulder again, breathing hard, as her hand slid protectively to rest at the back of his head – a vain, ironic attempt to shield him from the danger that was within herself.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay, Spike. It's all right…"

"Well. I guess that answers that question." Xander's flat statement only partially drew Buffy's attention away from her traumatized mate.

"What question?" she frowned, puzzled and distracted.

"Whether the demon claimed him – or just you," Xander clarified. "Seeing how demon-Buffy just tried to go all psycho when he said he didn't belong to it."

Spike froze completely, not moving at all, not lifting his head, as he took in the surprisingly meaningful words the Whelp had just spoken. If he was the claimed mate not only of Buffy, but of her demon as well – what would that mean for him when they managed to separate the two? How was it even possible?

The thought was terribly confusing – and terrifying.

"No," Buffy objected softly, her hand moving slowly, soothingly, through Spike's hair, as she sensed his fear and confusion, and wanted to do something to calm him. "No – she didn't claim him. He's not hers." She paused before adding, "She just wants him to be."

"Wants him to be?" Giles echoed, confused. "What do you mean, Buffy?"

"She?" Joyce echoed, her voice troubled, one eyebrow raised.

Buffy nodded, looking at her mother and addressing her question first. "I think I'm starting to – to be able to feel her emotions, hear her thoughts – more clearly than I could at first – and we are most definitely dealing with a 'she'."

"Makes sense," Anya shrugged. "That's why Slayers are always girls."

Spike raised his head to look at Buffy questioningly, drawn out of his emotions by the importance of the topic she was raising. "What is it, love?" he asked her softly. "What's happening to you?"

"I – I'm not sure…but…I think I'm starting to understand…what's motivating it. Why it flies into a rage at certain times, and not others. I think that – the wall between us, I guess, if you want to call it that – is starting to come down. It's like – like I said before – how it feels like it's me – but it's not?" Buffy tried to explain, though she knew it did not make sense.

Spike frowned. "She said that," he told her. "Back at the Magic Box. She said the two of you were one and the same. Must be why – why it calms her down when I say that I'm yours…because – she feels like you're the same person…"

"Because – the demon's essence is a part of Buffy?" Willow guessed. 

"Yes, but – but it feels like more than that," Buffy tried again, shaking her head, at a loss.

"Good Lord."

The words were not unusual coming from the Watcher, but his soft, horrified tone drew the attention of the younger people in the room, turning their eyes to him and waiting for him to go on.

"The demon's essence is a part of Buffy," he began slowly, thinking it out as he went along. "But – it's also, obviously – a part of the demon. If Buffy says that it feels like – the wall separating her from the entity possessing her is coming down – then – perhaps – the demon is beginning to rejoin with its essence, entirely. It's the natural order of things, being in the same body, for the demon to – reconnect, so to speak, with its essence – which is a part of Buffy, as well. So – in effect – it sounds as if…"

When he stopped, Buffy drew in a sharp breath, suddenly understanding what he was saying with a sense of horror.

"Oh, my God," Joyce gasped, realizing at the exact same moment, her eyes widening as she looked to the Watcher. "Are you saying that – because they share the same essence – that – Buffy is – is becoming…" Her voice trailed off; she could not make herself say it.

But Giles knew what she could not bring herself to say, and nodded grimly.

"Yes. Slowly but surely, it is happening. Unless we can separate Buffy from the demon, and very soon – the demon's pull on its essence will pull Buffy in as well – and she and the demon will become so thoroughly joined and intermingled – that they will essentially be one and the same."


	54. Chapter 54

"So – I am becoming a demon," Buffy said in a flat, expressionless voice, belied by the slight tremor it carried. Her eyes were wide and quietly horrified as she stared at her Watcher, silently begging him to deny the truth of her words.

He did not say a word – could not even hold her gaze.

"But – how is that possible?" Joyce asked, her voice betraying much more emotion than her daughter's.

"The demon is non-corporeal," Giles began slowly, trying to explain it as he put the pieces together in his mind. "It must be, because the only kind of demon that can possess a human body is one that does not already have a body of its own. But because Buffy's essence is already the same as its essence – it may give it the ability, given enough time, to take on her form permanently – make her body its own. In a sense, use Buffy to become corporeal."

Joyce's expression was one of horrified denial, shaking her head, though she could not find words.

"That's why it feels like me. When I do those – those awful things," Buffy concluded in a soft, expressionless voice. "And that's why I can hear what she's thinking sometimes…know what she's feeling…"

"And why your negative emotions – fear, anger, jealousy – seem to give it more control over you," Joyce pointed out gently, finally finding her voice, her eyes wide and troubled as they met Buffy's.

"Yes," Giles agreed, nodding slowly as he picked up Joyce's train of thought with a little grimace. "It seems that whenever you feel these emotions, the demon feels them as its own, and that gives it the will, and the power, to take over."

"Problem is – big, nasty demon doesn't have the self-control that Buffy does in dealing with hard core emotions," Xander pointed out grimly. "Has a tendency to get a little psychotic."

"One thing we do have in our favor," Giles went on with a hopeful glance toward his Slayer, "is the fact that the demon seems to be having difficulty in – in taking over entirely.

"Because she's the Slayer?" Willow guessed.

"Not at all," Giles shook his head with a grim, humorless little laugh in his voice. "No, remember, what makes Buffy the Slayer is precisely what we are fighting here. In this case, her being the Slayer is actually a detriment – not an asset."

"Dawn."

The single word, barely louder than a whisper, drew the attention of the room back to Buffy, whose eyes were focused on her little sister, staring back at her through wide, uncertain eyes. Buffy looked back at her Watcher and her friends as she explained what she was trying to say.

"Something about Dawn – makes this thing back down. She's getting stronger – so I don't know how long it will last. But it seems like when I start to lose control – when I – get emotional, or something, and give it an opening to take over – if I can get in contact with Dawn, we can manage to fight it back."

"But – she's just a little girl…" Joyce's tone was quietly fearful, and Buffy knew that the less involved in all of this that they could keep Dawn, the happier her mother would be.

Unfortunately, that did not seem to be an option at this point.

"Yes," Giles frowned thoughtfully. "That is odd. Could it be because she's your family – your blood kin?"

Buffy shook her head slowly. "No," she replied, "because if that was all it was then shouldn't Mom have the same effect on it? But she doesn't. But – but Dawn -- this thing sees her as a threat, somehow. Before, when I was fighting it, when it wanted to – to – hurt Dawn…" She simply could not bring herself to say the words. "She said – that if it weren't for Dawn – she'd be free."

"So it's true, then. For whatever reason, Dawn is what's keeping the demon from taking Buffy over completely," Anya concluded, looking expectantly between Buffy and Giles for confirmation of her assessment.

Both were nodding slowly.

"How is that possible?" Joyce objected again, her voice slightly higher than usual, and trembling with fear and dismay. It was clear that the whole situation was simply overwhelming for her, and she was terrified that before it was over, it might end up claiming both of her daughters, and taking them away from her.

"I have no idea," Giles admitted apologetically. "But I think I may know of a way to find out. There's a ritual that I could do – a sort of a revealing ritual – to show us any magic that might be at work in this situation. It's highly advanced…"

"But – isn't that dangerous?" Willow spoke up, entering the conversation for the first time. "I mean – mixing magics like that? Doing a spell when you don't know what magic might already be going on?"

There was a high, nervous note to her voice that drew a curious frown to Buffy's face.

"Actually, not in this case, Willow," Giles informed her calmly, looking equally puzzled by the redhead's unusual state of distress. "The very point of this spell is to reveal other spells – so it's therefore designed to be quite safe to use in the presence of other magics. Also, it's really more of a trance than a spell. No one but myself should actually be affected by it. It just basically allows me to see freely what is beyond my natural eyes in this situation…."

"But – but don't you think it could still be dangerous? I mean – what if Evil Buffy comes back while you're all – trance-y?" Willow persisted with her usual knack for the English language.

"I – rather think it'd be useful if she did make an appearance, Willow," Giles admitted with an uncertain little smile. "It might give me better opportunity to judge just what is at work here, if I could witness Dawn's affect on Buffy at a time like that." He paused, before asking quietly, "Why are you so concerned by this, Willow? I have been practicing magic much longer than you have. I do know what I'm doing."

"I – I don't know," Willow stammered, some of the fire gone out of her argument – mostly because she had none. "I know – I guess I'm just – a little freaked. I mean – I don't want anything to happen that might get Buffy hurt any worse. Or – or anyone else. I'm sorry."

Giles studied her face for a moment longer, before nodding and replying with compassion, "I understand, dear. I think we all do. But I assure you that it's – quite safe. It might just help us get a better understanding of what exactly we're dealing with."

"Okay," Willow replied in a small, miserable voice, having no other choice but to relent.

"Great. So we have something we can do…but – we still have one major problem we haven't talked about at all," Buffy reminded the group. "The Council. They're coming here."

The room was quiet for a moment, as they all took that it, with varying levels of understanding of what it might mean to the situation.

After a moment, Giles said in a quiet, cautious voice, "Buffy – I still fail to see how that is a problem, if they are coming here at all. Perhaps they might know something useful – might be able to help us overcome this…"

"Yeah. And I'm sure they're just dying to help me after I blew them off and they fired you. Come on, Giles, I'm outside the realm of their control, and they hate that. And now, I'm possessed by this first Slayer demon or whatever – I'm sure they're very interested in helping me!" Buffy's voice was sarcastic and skeptical.

"I'm sure at the very least, they're interested in remedying the situation, Buffy," Giles pointed out.

"And if that involves the sacrifice of the life of their most difficult to manage Slayer ever – well…" Spike spoke up in a low, dubious tone of barely controlled anger. "…don't think they're above it, Watcher."

Buffy turned to stare at him in surprise. She did not trust the Council, but to hear their possible intention for her put so bluntly was a bit unsettling. And Spike had been very quiet, ever since her last near-disastrous, almost-return to being Evil Buffy; she was a bit surprised to hear him speak up again.

Must have found a topic that really matters to him, she realized with a warm sense of gratitude and affection toward her mate.

Giles, on the other hand, was feeling anything but such feelings toward the angry blonde vampire. He had not missed the tone with which Spike had spoken his title, and chose to take personal offense at the accusation against the Council.

His eyes narrowed in anger as he shot back, "If you are suggesting that the Watcher's Council would deliberately harm Buffy in order to stop this demon…"

"In order to preserve the bloody Slayer line!" Spike corrected in an intense voice tinged with anger and impatience, that he was still trying to repress for Buffy's sake. "Think about what you're saying for a moment, mate! If the Council can save the whole future of all Slayers in some way that just might end up harming Buffy -- one girl – don't you think they'd do it?"

Giles was silent, struck speechless by the vampire's words. When put that way, it actually seemed to make a highly disturbing sort of sense. One girl, versus the possible fate of the world? What was the Council capable of?

When he finally came up with a response, it was weak at best.

"They wouldn't kill her. They don't want the demon destroyed – only contained again – and if Buffy dies, so does the demon. There's no way of re-capturing the demon that would involve killing Buffy."

Spike's answer was immediate, calm and certain. "But if there is a way – you better bloody well believe they know what it is."

The room fell silent again at the impact of his words.

"I'm sorry, Giles," Buffy said quietly at last, meeting her Watcher's eyes. "But I don't trust them. I know you were trying to help by calling them, but I don't want them to know where I am – or Dawn or Spike for that matter – until we get this taken care of …"

"But they may be able to help us get it taken care of…" Giles objected, his frustration evident in his voice.

"Or they may be able to help us get dead!" Buffy snapped. Her voice softened slightly as she added, "Giles – I understand what you're saying – but I'm just not willing to risk getting the Council involved. Honestly, I think it'd be best if we all just get out of town for a little while."

"We may not have a little while, Buffy! This thing is getting stronger by the hour, apparently, and could soon take you over completely. We have no way of knowing the nature of this power that Dawn seems to have over it, or how long it will last…we need to find a way to bind it! We're wasting our time hiding away here when he could have gone through all of this at home, and could be halfway through the revealing spell by now! How can you be so sure that the Council is on their way here to hurt you? They could very well be on their way here to help you, Buffy!"

A brief silence followed the Watcher's frustrated explosion of words, as something in his tone, some vague choice of wording, awakened a knowledge in Buffy – one she would rather not have had.

"But they are on their way – for sure – aren't they?" The hard note of suspicion in her voice stopped the Watcher short.

Giles dropped her gaze for a moment before looking back at her with a calm, even gaze, defensive and determined that he had done the right thing – and she knew the truth she had heard in his voice already, before he began to speak.

"Yes. They are. To help us, Buffy! We are very much out of our league, here! And if there's anyone who'd know how best to handle this situation, it'd be them…"

"You knew they were coming." Buffy's tone was accusing, hurt and angry. "You knew they were coming back at the Magic Box, when I talked to you – and you tried to make me believe that they weren't – that Spike was lying to me…"

"Buffy – I know how you feel about the Council, and I knew you'd never accept their help…"

"Damn straight!" Buffy snapped, her voice trembling with rage as she sat forward in her seat, as if to rise, her mouth opening to say more. "I don't need…"

Dawn's hand clamping onto her arm, and Spike's soft, sharp intake of breath beside her reminded her of why that was not a good idea, and her jaw set in anger and frustration as she forced herself to sit back again. As emotional as she was right now, it would surely only be moments before she lost control again, if she separated from her sister just to have the pleasure of getting in Giles' face and telling him off.

Like he so completely deserved!

"I don't need the Council's help, Giles," she continued, in a voice of forced, fragile calm. "They've almost gotten me killed once before. I can do without that kind of help. I don't want them involved…"

"Buffy, the Cruciamentum was – well, you know what I think of it. It is abhorrent. It is the reason I was fired and am no longer your Watcher, Buffy – because I could not stand by and allow it to go on." Giles' voice was softer than usual, and he paused, struggling for control before he continued, "But I do not believe that the Council would deliberately attempt to take your life. And they may be all the help we can get right now. I really think you have no choice but to…"

"But that's just it, Giles," Buffy broke in, her voice quiet and even, a remarkable example of the control her Watcher was trying for. "I do have a choice."

She allowed the words to sink in before explaining further.

"See – the Council did fire you. So you're not my Watcher anymore – not technically." Her voice softened at the visible flinch from the older man at her frank words, as she went on, "I wanted you to be, no matter what the Council said – but you told me just a few weeks ago, Giles – I don't need a Watcher anymore. You told me that – and I hated hearing it. But – you were right. And I quit the Council last year…so…"

She paused, glancing around at the assembled, listening group, all looking to her for her decision. "…seems to me like I do have a choice. And I choose not to let those creepy little tweed-suits anywhere near me or my family!"

"Buffy…"

"No."

The use of her Slayer-voice, although calmly – and the knowledge that there was quite a bit more power behind it in this instance than ever before – silenced her Watcher's patient, patronizing objection before he could voice it.

"Giles, my mind is made up. I want nothing to do with those men. If they come near me or my family, I'm going to get Dawn, Mom, and Spike away from them as quickly as I can. And I'm not sure the Council's men are going to want to face me right now, without Dawn being anywhere near me and when I've just been separated from my mate. If this thing in me knows what these men are to her – she's not going to be pleased to see them. And if she didn't know – she does now."

Giles was quiet, stunned by the threat in her words. He wished that he could blame Buffy's demeanor on the demon – but he knew that this was just Buffy, taking up for herself and the ones she loved, and refusing to back down.

He was not going to win this one – not here, anyway.

"All right, Buffy," he quietly conceded. "You're the Slayer. We'll do this your way. What exactly do you think we should do?"

The challenge in his voice was nearly completely overwhelmed by his concern and affection for her. His tone made it clear – he was not at all sure that she was making a wise decision, but he was not going to push her to make the one he would have chosen for her.

"I don't want the Council to have any idea where we are. I think it'd be great for us to all just get out of town for a few days, until we get this whole thing fixed," Buffy began with remarkable self-assurance, the uncertainty she felt about making the decision for the whole group barely reflected in her voice.

"Where should we go?" Anya asked quietly, her expression sober and fearful. From what she knew of the Council, they did not sound particularly pleasant, and she was in agreement with Buffy. Hiding was good.

Buffy thought for a moment before she replied, "L.A. Angel."

The chorus of protest that arose at that – coming from Giles, Xander, and surprisingly her own mother and sister – was drowned out in Buffy's ears by the soft growl she heard, low in her mate's throat.

She looked at Spike in surprise – and he quickly lowered the fiery sapphire eyes that had been focused intently on her, the growling ceasing the moment he realized he had been doing it.

It's okay, she told him in his head, her hand at his waist gently tightening, her fingertips stroking his side in a soothing manner. Trust me – you have nothing to worry about.

Buffy… She was surprised to hear his voice in her head, uninvited, yet not unwelcome, as his desperate eyes sought hers again. …please…anywhere but there…anyone but him…

Spike – don't worry, she insisted silently. Trust me.

But she could feel the insecurity, the doubt rolling off of him – knew that there was nothing that could have seemed more threatening to his standing with her, in his mind, than the presence of his sire, her former lover.

Casually she slid her arm up his back to rest her hand on his shoulder, her thumb just barely in contact with the mark on his throat; but the simple, soothing touch – and the accompanying glimpse she gave him into her thoughts – made him feel a tremendous sense of relief and reassurance.

"I know you guys aren't crazy about Angel – but I know you'll be safe there. It's a hotel, guys – one far away from here, where the Council won't think to look for us. And they may have resources that could help us. Please, guys – please just trust me."

There was no response for a long moment. Then, finally, Giles broke the silence.

"If you think that's best, Buffy. I do think that we should perform the revealing spell before we leave – find out if there are any magics we are not aware of at work here before we do anything," Giles suggested cautiously. "Just so we know…"

To Spike, it was an obvious ploy to stall her. Giles did not want Buffy to leave town, and would be sure to find some reason in the results of the "revealing spell" for why it would be a bad idea. That was why her response both surprised and dismayed him.

"Okay," she agreed quietly to the compromise. "Spike and I, Dawn and Mom will stay here with you long enough to do the spell." She turned to look at Xander as she added, "But I want the rest of you to go ahead to L.A. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner we get out of here the better. We'll just do the spell, and be right behind you. I'll call Angel and let him know to be expecting you."

"But, Buffy," Willow protested, even as Xander was nodding his acceptance, much to Spike's surprise. "Why can't we just…"

"Listen to me, Will," Buffy cut her off, gently but firmly. "I know what I'm doing – and I want you guys out of here if they come looking for us sooner than expected. I'd be sending Mom and Dawn with you too, if Dawn could be away from us right now. Please. Just go."

Willow had no plausible reason for why she should stay – none that she wanted to offer Buffy, anyway.

"Okay," she agreed weakly.

As Willow, Xander, and Anya headed outside to Xander's car, Giles turned to Buffy, nodding in satisfaction. "Very good. I've only got to go back to my house for a few supplies we'll need for the spell. I'll be back very soon."

Once the house was empty of all but Buffy's little family, she took out her cell phone and dialed Angel's number. After a very vague explanation of why her friends would be at his hotel in a few hours, explaining only that they needed a safe place to stay and she would contact him later with more information, she closed her cell phone and turned back toward the others, standing up.

"Okay. Let's get our things together. Time to go."

"I don't understand," Joyce frowned, puzzled, as she rose to her feet. "We're leaving now? Why didn't you tell Angel we were coming?"

"Because we're not."

"Then – where?" Dawn asked, fear and trust mingled in her young eyes.

"Anywhere but here," Buffy said grimly. "Giles is going to tell the Council where we are – except I don't plan to be here when they get here."


	55. Chapter 55

"What?" Despite her increasing dislike for the pompous British man who seemed to think that he had the right to dictate every aspect of her daughter's life, Joyce was still stunned to think that he would actually betray her to the Council. "Do you really think he's gone to tell them where we are?"

Buffy hesitated an instant, not wanting to believe it herself, before nodding her reluctant response. "I'm pretty sure they're probably already nearby. And when he comes back, chances are they'll be with him."

"Good – you caught that, too," Spike stated, relief in his voice. "Not just me, then. You had me worried for a minute there, pet."

"So where are we gonna go?" Dawn asked anxiously, needing some sort of reassurance at the moment.

"We're gonna get out of town," Buffy told her. "Drive for a hundred miles or so – and check into some unknown little motel in some little nameless hick town where no one would ever think to look for us." She paused before adding, "And then, we're gonna figure this out. Without the help of anyone who has any ulterior motive in this besides solving the problem."

Spike nodded slowly, relieved and satisfied, impressed with his mate's perception. He had wondered if she was really missing the odd behavior of her friend the witch, and if she realized the danger of Xander's self-serving motives as well. As far as he was concerned, they had all they needed, right here.

Except maybe…

"Er, Buffy – what about Demon Girl?" he asked her speculatively. "Not -- your demon girl…Anya. She knows a lot about this sort of thing, and she seems to be on our side in this. Why send her away?"

Buffy gave him a dubious look. "Can you imagine Xander's reaction if I had tried to have her stay? And I think it might have aroused suspicions all around. Once we get someplace safe, I'm gonna call Angel again and tell him a little bit more about what's going on. I'll have him find a way to get Anya to wherever we are then. But for now – it's probably safer this way, for her."

They all rose at that point and began to prepare to leave, recognizing the wisdom of the Slayer's plan. Her friends were well-meaning, or at least thought that they were – but were still mostly motivated by selfishness. Xander's hatred of Spike would color everything he said or did in regards to the situation; Willow was clearly hiding something about her botched spell, and the last thing they needed at the moment was her attempt at a repair job; and Giles, while he had the best interests of his Slayer at heart, was likely to allow his poor judgment and long-held beliefs to bring her to her death.

It was best for their newly-reshaped little family unit to get away from it all – including Buffy's friends.

As Joyce headed into the small bedroom that had been used as Spike's recovery room, to gather up the cooler with the remaining blood it held, and the other items they had left there, Buffy moved to follow her and help her – stopping when Spike gently caught her arm.

She turned to face him, a question in her soft, emerald gaze.

"Buffy – can I – I need to talk to you, pet," he told her, his voice low and slightly faltering, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

Buffy glanced uncertainly at Dawn, who immediately spoke up.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. What if Buffy's demon comes back?" she pointed out – but it was clear that her words were motivated as much by curiosity as by her strong desire to protect her friend.

Buffy looked uncertainly at Spike. "I feel like I'm in control. As long as we're careful not to – do anything to upset her – should be okay."

She shrugged tentatively, but waited for her mate's response. He was the one who wanted to talk to her, and the one who would be facing the greatest risk – so it was up to him whether or not they would chance a Dawn-less conversation.

After a moment he nodded firmly. "It'll be all right. Just for a minute, love." His eyes were full of a mixture of trust and apprehension that made him seem so vulnerable.

Buffy smiled reassuringly, reaching out to take his hand gently in hers. "Okay." She nodded toward the large bedroom, the one in which they had spent their first night, her smile taking on an oddly bittersweet, ironic quality. "There's something I wanted to show you, anyway."

She did not miss the flash of fear in his eyes when he followed her gaze toward the room that had seen so much of his suffering and abasement, and not only at her hands.

"Trust me," she whispered gently, giving his hand a light squeeze. "I know it's hard…"

She never finished the comment.

With a resolute expression on his face, his mind made up by the sorrow and guilt in her voice, her vampire was already tugging her toward the closed bedroom door, determined to prove that he did trust her, in spite of his fears. It was not Buffy who had hurt him, and the sooner they could prove that to themselves, the better.

" 'S ok, Niblet," he called over his shoulder. "I'll call you if I need you."

Dawn's concern quickly overrode her curiosity, as the possibilities, thoughts of what could happen in that room before she could have a chance to stop her sister, raced through her mind.

"But, Spike!' she objected, moving to follow them from where she stood across the room. "What if you…"

The rest of her question was lost to them, as the bedroom door shut firmly behind them.

Dawn stopped short, a worried frown on her lips as she softly finished, "…can't?"

As the Slayer closed the door firmly behind them, Spike found himself suddenly in total darkness. Even his vampire senses did little to penetrate the blackness in front of him, as there was not the faintest trace of light in the windowless room.

He almost laughed, albeit nervously, when he felt Buffy's warm, soft hand slide over his open but useless eyes, in a gesture that seemed utterly pointless at the moment.

"Close your eyes," she whispered in a soft, mysterious tone.

He did laugh, then. "Won't make a bloody bit of difference, pet," he pointed out, trying to keep his tone calm and light, not to reveal the rising apprehension he was feeling in spite of the humor of the situation.

"It will in a minute," she told him as she removed her hand from his eyes, which were obediently closed, despite the redundancy of it.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, followed by a quiet click, which he assumed by the slightly erratic traces of light he could pick up through his closed eyelids, was a flashlight. He waited for a few moments, as Buffy's footsteps crossed the room, and he heard the quiet sound of a match being struck.

Immediately, he sensed the lighting in the room change, growing slightly brighter as the Slayer continued to move about the room – and he felt a bit better at the thought.

A few moments later, he felt Buffy's hand slip gently back into his, felt her arm wrap around his waist in an affectionate gesture, as she spoke softly near his ear, "Go ahead. Open your eyes."

When Spike obeyed, the soft glow of warm, golden candlelight met his vision, as it slowly adjusted from the pitch darkness of a moment before. The sight that met his wide, wondering eyes was completely unexpected, yet beautiful, and filled his heart with a feeling of warmth to rival the candlelight – and that was quite a feat.

There were candles everywhere – spread throughout the room, arranged to cast a soft glow that was bright enough to create a sensation of warmth and safety, yet dim enough to feel intensely romantic.

The chains had been removed from the large, ornate bed that dominated the room. In fact, it hardly looked like the same bed at all. It had been re-made with a brand new bedspread in a dark, sensual red, turned back invitingly to reveal black satin sheets beneath it. Beside the bed was a small glass nightstand that Spike knew had not been there before, on which had been arranged a small silver ice bucket, and two delicate crystal glasses. In the ice bucket, a bottle of fine red wine was chilling.

A slow smile spread across the vampire's face as he took in the scene. It was not the most original set up he had ever seen, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. At least this way, there was absolutely no question as to what Buffy's intentions had been.

"Planning on seducing me, pet?" Spike guessed in a low, teasing voice that did little to mask his desire. His fears had vanished in the light of the romantic setting that his mate had taken the time to arrange.

"Planning on making it up to you," Buffy corrected softly, moving around in front of him and looking him in the eyes with a solemn gaze. "Planning on – undoing some of the damage. In some – small way." She grimaced slightly as her hand rose to trace the edge of a nearly faded bruise on his cheek that had not been there when she had set up this room, and added in a soft, apologetic tone, "Very small. Meaningless, really – compared with…"

"No," he interrupted her gently, a reassuring smile on his lips. "It's not meaningless, pet. It means a lot."

The emotion she heard in his voice caught her off guard, and she looked up at him in surprise, a tentative hope in her eyes. "I just – I just wanted to – to do things right. To – to make you mine…but…without hurting you, Spike. To do it the way – the way I wish I'd done it, now." She was silent for a moment, her gaze dropping again as she added apologetically, "I thought we'd be here longer. All night, anyway. I guess – plans change…" she finished weakly, regret in her voice.

Spike gave a quiet, rueful laugh. "Yes, they do," he agreed softly.

A brief silence fell between them, not uncomfortable for Spike, lost in his thoughts for the moment – but Buffy felt her guilt more intensely with the opportunity to think about it. After a moment she cleared her throat quietly, shaking her head slightly as she looked up into his eyes with an expectancy that broke the moment.

"So," she said with a forced smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "you wanted to talk to me about something?"

Instantly, the dynamic between them seemed to shift, as Spike's demeanor changed before her eyes. Much to her surprise and dismay, his smile faded, as did the fragile security that had been building in his eyes, in the moment before he broke her gaze. She felt him tense under her arm, but he did not pull away from her.

Perhaps he was afraid to.

"Well – it's like this, love," he began, a bit hesitantly, his voice quiet and carefully calm. "I – I had an idea. About – how to control this thing – how to beat it…"

"Spike," she interrupted, a note of caution in her voice, "don't you think we should discuss this when we're not alone? I mean – if you're actually on to something we could get this thing really riled…"

"I know," he nodded, his serious gaze still not meeting hers, focused rather somewhere near her shoes. "I just – didn't really want to talk about this in front of your little sis, pet."

Buffy frowned, puzzled. "Okay," she said slowly. "if you're sure…I – I don't want to hurt you, Spike…"

"I know," he repeated with another nod, "but…it may be our best shot at beating this thing…but it could be a mite much for the Little Bit to handle. Some delicate details best not shared with the family, eh, pet?"

Buffy studied the anxious, troubled eyes now searching hers for a moment before nodding her reluctant agreement. "Okay," she said in a slightly warning voice, "but if I start to change you yell for Dawn before I can touch you, all right?"

"All right." Spike's eyes were as serious as hers as he solemnly agreed to her condition.

They both knew that if Buffy did lose control, they would only have a few moments before she could easily keep him from calling for help.

The blonde vampire drew a deep breath in preparation for what he was about to say. "Right, then…here it is. 'Ve got this theory, love. You say this – Slayer-demon – thing hasn't claimed me – and yet she acts all bloody possessive and such…"

Buffy nodded. "Yep. I can feel it when she's fighting to come out. She wants you to be hers. And it makes her furious that you're not…"

"Like maybe she feels – cheated, perhaps?" Spike suggested, a glimmer of insight in his eyes that caught Buffy's interest.

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, you said from what you're feeling, she seems to feel like you two are one and the same. She backs down when I submit to you, that sort of thing. She told me as much back in the Magic Box…"

"Right," Buffy said, nodding to show that she was following him so far.

"So – you said you figured she was there, but not strong enough to do anything yet, when you initiated the dominance ritual…from the moment Red did her mojo – right?"

"Right."

"But she couldn't stop you from messing up the ritual – and then you did a one-sided mating claim, which put me under your control anyway – right?" Spike went on, pausing and looking at her to be sure that she was still with him.

She was frowning, concentrating hard – but still with him. "Right."

"Must have been right frustrating for her. Must still want pretty badly to finish what you started and establish her dominance," Spike remarked almost casually, watching her face closely, both to gauge her understanding, and for any sign of a reaction from the demon.

"So – you're saying that maybe – the reason she keeps trying to exert her dominance over you – to get you to submit – is because we never finished the dominance ritual?"

"Right," Spike nodded. "Problem is this – remember why you had to do the soddin' spell in the first place?"

Buffy thought for a moment. "Because you couldn't be bound with a dominance claim as long as you were powerless to resist. We had to take the chip down, or else if I beat you, it wouldn't count, because you couldn't fight me…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening, as she began to put together exactly what he was saying.

"So…" she guessed, rising excitement in her voice. "you're saying the demon keeps trying to finish the unfinished dominance ritual – to make you submit to her – but she can't, because the one-sided mating claim basically does the same thing your chip did – it means you can't fight back…"

"…so no matter how many times she hurts me, no matter how many times I submit – it doesn't count. Because I don't really have a chance to fight back," Spike concluded.

"Wow," Buffy whispered, looking away as she tried to process it all. "That explains a lot." She paused, before meeting his eyes again with a pensive frown. "But how does that help us beat it?"

"Right – here's what I was thinking," Spike began with a nervous, slightly shaky breath. "So – she wants to complete this ritual. But she can't because I can't resist her – you – her in you…" Spike shook his head, trying to clear it of that muddled line of thinking. "…anyway…I know a way – that I could resist – the both of you…"

Buffy's frown deepened as she caught the hesitant, apprehensive note that had crept into his voice. "What?" she asked softly. "How?"

"Well…" Spike looked away from her, swallowing hard, before continuing a bit nervously, "and this is only – if you want to, because – well, it's soddin' eternity, pet, but – but it might be the only way…"

"Spike." The sharp note to her voice made him flinch slightly, and she grimaced apologetically as she moved in closer to hi, her hands seeking his waist and drawing him in close to her in a comforting way. "It's okay. I'm in control. She's not even trying to surface. Tell me. How can you fight her?"

"If…" Spike began, going very still under her touch, not lifting his gaze, his voice whisper soft. "…if you let me…return your claim."

When she said nothing, he looked hesitantly up at her, searching for some sign of her reaction. Her expression was blank, revealing nothing, as he restated his answer to be sure she understood.

"If you – allow me to claim you…"

Buffy's eyes slowly widened as she realized what he was saying – and that a part of her actually rose up in longing at the mere words – desperately wanting what he was saying to happen.

When she still said nothing, Spike looked down again, as he spoke hesitantly, trying to explain, his tone anxious and self-conscious.

"I mean – it's forever, Buffy, and I can bloody well understand if you're not ready for that, or don't want to at all, but I swear you'd never have to worry about what I'd do if I wasn't forced to submit to you, because pet, I swear to you I'd never…"

Her hand rose between them, and he flinched slightly – until her fingertips came to rest gently over his lips, stilling his nervous, babbling words.

"Say I do…" Buffy said softly, a very serious expression on her face. "Say I let you claim me. How would that help us defeat her? What would we do then?"

Spike stared into her eyes for a long moment, reassured to see no trace of anger or the defensive rage that characterized her demon, as he squared his jaw and answered with quiet determination, a glimmer of mingled anger at the things the demon had done to him, and excitement at the prospect of repaying her for them, showing in his eyes – leaving no doubt as to what he felt the outcome would be.

"We finish the bloody dominance ritual."

He sought the Slayer's gaze, watching her expression as she thought it over, the beginnings of a hopeful smile on his lips. Slowly she raised her eyes to his, a determined set to her chin – and Spike's hope was suddenly replaced with dread.

The cruel, almost feral gleam in her eyes, the slightly predatory smile on her lips, was all the warning he had before her hand at his lips lowered to seize his throat in a grip just short of utterly crushing his windpipe. As it was, he could not speak, could not make a sound.

The only one that could help him was close enough to hear the softest cry – if he could only have cried out at all.

Both Spike and Buffy realized too late that the Slayer demon had not been silent because it was too weak to fight, but had merely been listening – waiting – and now, had taken them both by surprise.

He did not have time to struggled, though he already knew it would have been futile, before she had pushed him back against the wall behind him, firmly, but not hard enough to make a sound that could be heard in the next room.

He was gasping for breath, his hands clutching at hers on his throat in a desperate attempt to regain his power of speech – until she dug her thumb painfully into her mark, and a moan of agony rose in his throat – a moan that was smothered to silence by her merciless grip.

She didn't have to command him; against everything in him that longed to fight back, he lowered his hands obediently to his sides, ceasing his useless resistance.

"That's it," she whispered in a cruel mockery of soothing gentleness, her hand at his waist pressing him back against the wall as she moved in closer to him – and eliciting a sharp, breathless gasp of agony at the jarring of his injuries.

"Oh, Baby," she whispered, with a falsely sympathetic little pout near his ear, "did I hurt you?" Her cruel fingers gripped the soft, bruised flesh of his abdomen, just above his hip, and squeezed relentlessly. "So sorry," she smirked as he let out a choked, soundless cry.

Her voice was suddenly as pitiless as her actions as she leaned in to whisper, her lips brushing his ear, "You think you can beat me that easy? Not gonna happen, Sweetheart! You're mine!" she declared in a viciously threatening tone, as she pressed harder on his stomach to emphasize her point, and he thought he might pass out from the pain. "Mine to do whatever I want with! Mine to kill, if I want to, Spike. And I will, before I'll let you do that to me!"

"Buffy?"

Dawn's high but muffled voice was suddenly heard from the other side of the closed door. "Spike? Are you guys okay? It's been a long time…"

"Just fine, Dawnie, do you mind?" Buffy replied in a voice of mild irritation and impatience that sounded precisely like the one she typically used with Dawn, her cruelly smiling eyes never leaving Spike's wide, panicked ones. "We'll be out in a minute, honey, just wait in the car."

There was a moment's silence before Dawn's slightly uncertain voice was heard again. "Okay. Hurry up."

Spike closed his eyes, fighting off a sense of despair – of which his captor was all too aware.

Her lips were still against his skin as she whispered in a voice of mock urgency, " 'Dawnie! Help me, Dawnie! Please!'" Her voice became hard as she finished with a sneer, " 'I'm nothing but a pathetic little wuss who needs a little girl to…"

Her words were suddenly cut off as a small but firm hand closed around her wrist, trying to pull her cruel hand away from Spike's injured torso.

"Buffy! Buffy, stop!" Dawn demanded angrily.

It was only a matter of moments before the strange power that Dawn possessed had brought Buffy back to them. Overwhelmed with the power of the unknown magics that were at work to allow the girl to fight back the demon, the restored Slayer sank to her knees on the floor, breathing hard, as she struggled to recover from the encounter.

Dawn stood over her, watching her carefully, her hand resting on her shoulder – just in case.

Spike stood where she had left him, against the wall, gasping in the deep, ragged breaths she had denied him, nearly overwhelmed himself with relief, one hand clutching his battered stomach, as he kept his eyes cautiously focused on his mate, waiting for her to recover.

After a few moments, Buffy slowly raised her head, looking between her sister and her mate, as her disorientation faded away. And then, to their surprise, a slight smile began on her lips, as her eyes focused on Spike's face.

"Well," she gasped, her voice little more than a whisper as she caught her breath. "I'd say we must have struck a nerve – wouldn't you?"

Gradually a smile came over the vampire's lips to match hers, as he realized the reason for it, and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he replied. "I'd say so."

"What are you two talking about?" Dawn asked, an anxious frown on her face as she looked between the cryptic pair. "What's good about this?"

Buffy smiled at her sister as she climbed back to her feet, a glow of excitement and satisfaction in her eyes.

"What's good about this, Dawnie – is that we just figured out how to stop this thing."


	56. Chapter 56

"What happened?"

Joyce suddenly appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, an anxious frown on her face as she took in the troublesome scene before her. Her oldest daughter was on her knees on the floor, the youngest Summers standing beside her and watching her warily, while the blonde vampire stood against the wall, still catching the breath he did not need, anyway, carefully keeping a fair distance between himself and the Slayer.

At complete odds with what she surmised had obviously just taken place in this room, however – Buffy and Spike were both smiling.

"My demon went all psycho again," Buffy explained easily, glancing casually at her mother before returning her gaze to Spike to share another meaningful smile.

"Oh," Joyce remarked flatly, not quite sure how to react based on her daughter's alarming words that, for some reason, she and Spike seemed to find amusing. "And – that's funny?"

"Let me be a little more clear," Buffy said, rising to her feet with the help of her little sister's hand and turning to face her mother. "My demon went all psycho again – because she can't stand the fact that Spike just figured out how to take her down."

She turned toward Spike, cautiously pulling away from her sister's steadying arm, while motioning for her to stay close – just in case. Buffy's smile faded as she glanced down at the trembling hand that was still clutching his battered stomach.

"It's nothing," he assured her, seeking her eyes with a reassuring smile. "Promise, love. Worth it – if it means we know my idea's gonna work."

"Well – considering Slayer-Girl's little freak out – I'd say she's definitely scared of something you said," Buffy pointed out, slowly closing the distance between them, her troubled, frowning eyes still focused on his stomach, as she slid her arm around behind him, steadying him as she led him away from the wall, her other hand coming to rest gently over his that was still pressed to the sore spot.

She raised her eyes to his, opening her mouth to speak.

"Don't say it, pet," he cut her off gently, meeting her eyes with a reassuring look, before she could have time to misinterpret his words. "Not your fault."

"So – you're all right?" Joyce asked hesitantly, trying to draw the increasingly inward-focused attention of the couple back to the current situation.

Spike looked up at her as if just remembering that she was there, nodding. "Yeah."

"Then – the car's all loaded. Why don't you two tell us all about it on the way?"

"So – let me get this straight," Joyce said, frowning into the rearview mirror at her daughter in the backseat. "I'm not sure I'm getting this."

Even though she could only see Buffy, and not the blonde vampire beside her, she was fairly certain that they were sitting quite a bit closer than she was comfortable with – mated or not.

It was a testament to Spike's high regard for Joyce that he was allowing her to drive his treasured Desoto – although really, they didn't have much choice at the moment. I had seemed like the best option under the circumstances. Images of a disastrous car wreck in which they might all be killed, should Buffy lose control and attack Spike while he was driving, made the idea of Spike's driving his own car seem a bit on the undesirable side.

Dawn was too young, and Buffy was – bloody well out of the question, that was for soddin' sure!

So Joyce was driving, her youngest daughter trying not to drift off to sleep in the passenger seat beside her, after the long, traumatic evening she had had; and Buffy and Spike sat very close together in the back seat, doing their best to appear to be actually trying to help Joyce understand the recent developments in their situation, while trying very hard to not let the powerful attraction between them from the claim -- and the fact that it had been over twenty-four hours since they had last seen each other naked – cause them to humiliate themselves in front of Buffy's mother.

Fortunately, Joyce was too busy trying to wrap her mind around the complex mystical situation they were dealing with, and the mysterious solution they had apparently found, to notice too closely anything that was going on in the backseat.

"So – let me see if I've got this," she said, looking straight ahead at the road as she spoke. "The demon keeps trying to finish the original dominance ritual. That's why she keeps hurting Spike – she's trying to force him into submission. But it doesn't work, because he's already bound to Buffy through the mating claim – but not the demon – but he still can't fight the demon because it's in Buffy's body. Right?"

"That's about the size of it," Buffy replied innocently, giving her mate a wicked smirk as her hand slid between his legs to sneak a naughty feel.

Spike's responsive groan was conveniently timed to coincide with a rather large pothole that Joyce hit, and the older woman glanced in the rearview mirror with concern, frustrated to remember that she could not see the obviously-in-severe-pain vampire's reflection in it.

"Oh, Spike, I'm sorry!" she gasped, assuming that her careless driving had jarred his injuries. "Are you all right?"

"Perfect, pet," Spike assured her with remarkable composure, almost fiercely grabbing Buffy's hand and placing it back safely in her own lap. "You were saying?"

What the bleedin' hell are you trying to do, pet, make your mum toss me out of my own bloody car on my soddin' arse? he demanded in her head.

It was odd, hearing Buffy's musical little giggle in his mind, rather than in his ear.

Might be funny, she mused teasingly, but there was affection in her tone.

We'll see how funny it is when you're the one moanin' your x-rated pleasure for your mum and baby sis to hear! Spike shot back with a smirk of his own, as his hand, still clutching hers, pressed it down between her legs, pushing her own fist just slightly sideways so that her thumb rubbed just slightly across her sensitive, denim-covered center.

Buffy kept her eye politely focused on the rearview mirror, pretending to listen to her mother, astonishingly managing to keep her rising desire from showing in her face. She was just glad that her mother could not see any lower than her shoulders in the mirror.

The soft moan of pleasure at the sensation of his – or rather, her own – touch, was only in her mind, and thankfully Joyce could not hear it.

But Spike could.

His smug smile widened as he pushed their joined hands back slightly harder against her body, relishing the way her eyes widened in a shock of pleasure at the sensation.

Buffy was determined to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

Shhh, she whispered the cryptic warning in his mind…

Huh?

…the moment before she slid her free arm casually around him, her fingertips just barely brushing around the edges of her mark – and causing the unsuspecting vampire to nearly come off the seat, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the intensity of the sensation she had provoked.

She appeared oblivious to his predicament, smiling encouraging and nodding as her mother went on talking – though she hadn't the first clue what Joyce was actually saying – as Spike realized with irritation through his arousal that she had the upper hand in this situation in more ways than one.

She had used the power behind her claim in her order to be quiet, and Joyce could not see Spike in the mirror – so there was no way for the Slayer's mum to know what she was doing to him. The look of smug satisfaction on her face was incredibly frustrating – as if she just took it for granted that with the slightest touch, she could have him at her mercy and begging for more.

Not tonight, love, he thought to himself, his jaw set with determination as his hand clenched tighter around hers. The hint of a smile formed on the lips he was biting to keep closed, as he pressed their joined hands – and in so doing the knuckle of her thumb – into her highly sensitized, terribly aroused crotch.

Buffy could tell by the feelings she was reading from him, and the expression on his face, that he definitely did not want to lose this little battle of wills.

Oh, well, she thought to herself. We can't always get what we want, can we?

She stifled the moan of pleasure that Spike's increased pressure on her hand drew from her lips, fighting for control and focus. The pressure he was exerting lessened immediately when she made another slow, torturously light circle around the mark on his throat.

Spike's already throbbing erection became painful, restricted by his already-tight dark jeans, and he drew in a sharp, yet nearly silent, breath.

Her mental voice was calm and teasing as she asked him softly, Now are you gonna give me my hand back -- now -- or are you gonna scream my name in front of my mother and sister and make a huge mess all over the only pair of pants you brought with you on this trip?

He realized with alarm that she could make him do it.

He immediately released her hand as if it were on fire, and she quickly – if a bit reluctantly – moved it away from her lap. She lowered her hand from his throat to rest casually on his shoulder, and continued pretending to listen to her mother, actually trying to catch up with Joyce's musings – until Spike drew her attention back to him again.

You know it won't always be so easy, pet.

She frowned slightly, but did not look at him as she asked uncertainly, What are you talking about?

In spite of herself, a bit of insecurity started to show itself, as she wondered about his meaning. They were going to be mated -- forever -- surely he wasn't already talking about the time when he would grow bored with her?

When I claim you back. It'll be even footing then, pet. And I've got a lot of experience on you. If you can use that mark to do the things you do to me – to set me on fire like you do – I should be able to make you scream – make you beg – with a single…breath…

Buffy's eyes widened at the low, seductive tone of his thoughts – and the answering sensations stirring back to life in her at the images his words brought to mind.

"Buffy? Buffy!"

She shook her head slightly to clear it and tried to focus on what her mother was saying.

"Sorry, Mom – I was zoning," she confessed sheepishly – conveniently leaving out the detail of just what zone she had slipped into. "What were you saying?"

"I was just saying that the whole thing has me a little bit confused," Joyce repeated in a voice of mild impatience and exasperation, both with her own confusion, and with her daughter's state of distraction. "What exactly is the benefit of having Spike claim you again? Not that I mind…it's just..."

Her voice trailed off, and she looked expectantly at Buffy.

So did Spike, giving her a lascivious grin, making a lewd little gesture with his tongue between his teeth that in no way helped Buffy's situation – all safely out of Joyce's sight, as she looked at her daughter in the rearview mirror.

Tell her, pet, he teased her. Tell her why it's such a good…

Spike! Buffy cut him off, a bit sharply. Time to focus…okay, I give…shouldn't have started this game…we've got a lot to work out, so for now, playtime is over…

Oh, it's far from over, pet, he assured her with a soft chuckle – but he did let it go, as Buffy went over the situation again with her mother.

"Okay, so – once he claims you he'll be free to fight the demon and complete the dominance ritual, and bring her under his control," Joyce recapped slowly, frowning her confusion.

"Right."

"But – that means he has to fight you -- right?"

"Sort of," Buffy conceded with a cautious nod. "Except – we're pretty sure the demon will be at the forefront. She is not gonna be pleased with his claiming me."

"So – assuming Spike wins this fight for dominance – won't that mean that you are under his control, too?"

"See, that's the cool part, Mom," Buffy grinned, excitement coming over her at the cleverness of their plan, the game she had been playing with her mate almost forgotten.

Almost.

"Like Anya told me, a mating claim takes preeminence over all other claims. So – someone who's been claimed in a mating claim can't be put under any other claim – as long as their mate is alive. So – even if the dominance claim would ordinarily put me under Spike's control – it won't have any effect on me, because I'll already be claimed by him as his mate."

"But – it will affect the demon?" Joyce sounded very unsure about that idea.

"Yeah – in theory," Spike remarked. "Because the mating claim had nothing to do with the demon. Buffy did it because she wanted to, and before the demon was strong enough to act on her own through Buffy. So Buffy will be protected by our mating claim, but the demon won't."

"And the way the spell was worded – the demon would be loosed by the spell 'until she was bound by another'. So, we're thinking – hopefully…" Buffy trailed off, searching for the right words.

Spike picked up for her, "…the dominance claim should fulfill the requirement of the spell, and send this nasty back to whatever box she was locked in before."

Joyce was quiet for a moment, taking it in and trying to process it. "Sounds good," she commented finally, her voice calm but neutral. "but what I'm wondering is this…this thing's nice and quiet right now, because Dawnie just – fought her back, or whatever – but she's gonna get strong again, like last time, and it probably won't take very long."

Joyce paused, before asking in a quiet voice of concern, "How are you two going to keep her from taking over again long enough for Spike to complete the claim? Because you are so not having your sister in the room for that!"

"Mom!" Buffy protested, horrified. "Eww! Of course not!"

But then, the car fell silent, as they considered that problem.

The silence was broken after a few moments, by the high, tinny sound of Buffy's cell phone ringing. Momentarily glad for the distraction, she took it out of her pocket and looked at the lighted screen on the front – and heaved a weary sigh, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, great," she muttered. "This should be fun."

"Who is it, pet?" Spike asked, frowning anxiously.

Buffy shot him a dark look as she opened the phone and replied dubiously, "It's Giles."


	57. Chapter 58

"You don't have to answer it, pet," Spike reminded her gently, his hand reaching out to slip into hers again, but this time with no intent but to offer her his support. "Let him worry. He was going to betray you."

Apparently, those were the wrong words to actually convince Buffy not to answer the phone. She frowned, troubled, as she said softly, "Was he? Do we know that?" She paused, waiting for an answer that no one in the car could offer her. "He probably is so worried," she agreed quietly – though that was not exactly the part of Spike's words that he had wanted her to agree with.

"Deserves to be," he muttered, but put up no further protest as she pushed the button to accept the call and raised it to her ear.

"Hello?"

There was complete silence on the line for a long moment.

"Hello? Giles?" Buffy persisted, frowning with concern.

Suddenly, the idea of leaving her Watcher – also not on the best of terms with the Council – anywhere near said Council when they found out that she and the others had fled, did not seem like such a good idea after all. What if they thought he knew where they were? Surely the Council wouldn't do anything to hurt Giles when they couldn't get to her…?

Yeah. And surely they wouldn't place the teenage girl that they were supposedly duty-bound to help and protect in a helpless position of mortal danger in which she could easily be killed, either.

Right.

"Giles! Are you okay?" she demanded into the phone, her voice taking on a slight tremor when he still had not said anything.

Finally, a sign of life on the other end of the phone could be heard – a quiet release of a deeply held breath, followed by a sound that was suspiciously similar to a sob. That alarmed her more than the silence. She had never in all the years that she had known him heard Giles cry – and yet the sound was unmistakably her Watcher's voice.

"Giles?" she whispered again, her eyes widening with dismay.

Finally, he answered, his voice quiet and shaky, barely over a whisper. "Buffy…dear God…you're all right…you're all right…"

The words seemed more a reassurance to himself than a question.

The sound of actual words coming from her usually much-more-eloquent Watcher was comforting to Buffy, who released a weary sigh of relief, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt for obviously scaring him so badly.

Was it possible that her suspicions had been completely wrong?

"Yes, I'm all right. I'm fine. Look, Giles, I'm sorry we scared you, I didn't mean to, but I just can't let the Council find us right now, and I know – I know you want to help, but…"

"Buffy."

She was silent for a moment, a cold, frightened feeling going through her at the heavy, serious sound of his voice. "What?" she whispered, almost afraid to hear what he would say.

She listened quietly for the next few moments to the Watcher's unusually rambling, emotional explanation of the situation, her eyes growing wide with shock, sober with the impact of what had nearly happened to her and the ones she loved.

Once she had managed to make sense of what Giles was telling her, sorting out the facts of what had happened after she had left among Giles' near breakdowns and frequent, desperate apologies, the older man finally stopped talking, and she had to force her frozen mind to backtrack and replay the question he had just asked her.

"No – no, I really don't think that's a good idea," she told her Watcher, her voice quiet and expressionless.

"Buffy – Buffy, what?" Spike said quietly, frowning anxiously into her eyes, trying to understand what was going on.

"No, Giles – I know you had no idea. I know you never wanted – yes, I know, but – Giles…" Buffy ignored her mate for the moment, trying to get her point across to the nearly distraught, insistent man she was talking to on the phone. "Look – they could be following you. I'll call you once we get – where we're going. But I won't tell you where we are."

There was a brief silence as the Watcher argued his point again, before Buffy broke in firmly, "No, Giles. I know you only want to help. But the connections you have – certain things that you can't change – mean that…well…you just can't help me right now."

She was silent for a moment, and no sound came from the other line either, as there was really nothing left for Giles to say. Finally, Buffy nodded, relief and satisfaction showing in her face, as her Watcher had clearly accepted her decision, though he obviously did not want to.

"We're okay. We're safe. And I'll call you and keep you posted…okay?"

Another brief pause.

"Okay…just go home. You don't know anything…okay? Just act completely normal around them as long as they're there, but – be careful, okay?...Okay. I'll talk to you later."

There was another pause, and Buffy's eyes widened further in surprise, before softening with affection and tears. "Of – of course…I – love you, too, Giles…bye…"

Spike's eyes widened as well, as he glanced at the phone his mate was just closing, and that back at her face, realizing that the uncommon verbal affection between the Slayer and her Watcher was just another sign that something was seriously not right with this picture.

"What is it, pet? What happened?" he asked her.

She looked up at him as if just remembering that he was there, and then forward at her mother, who she just realized had pulled the car over on the side of the road and was turned almost completely around in her seat, watching her daughter with protective concern.

Buffy was silent for a long moment before she replied in a slow, distant sort of voice, "You were completely right about the Council, Spike." She looked back at him suddenly, a sort of wondering realization in her eyes as she added softly, "You saved our lives."

"Buffy, what are you talking about?" Joyce asked, impatience mingled with fear in her voice. "What did Mr. Giles have to say?"

Buffy looked away from them both, her wide, shell-shocked eyes focused on the back of her mother's seat as she hesitated before beginning her explanation.

"I was right. Giles was going to tell the Council where we were when he left. Apparently they had been in touch with him, and were supposedly still a couple of hours away. So he went to tell them where we were, and then he was going to use the revealing spell to stall us – to keep us there until they could get there."

"Bloody wanker," Spike muttered, anger flashing in his sapphire eyes. "I can't believe he'd sell you out like that!"

"He – he wasn't trying to betray me," Buffy said softly, shaking her head, a sad look in her huge emerald eyes. "He really thought they could help – and I was making a mistake by not wanting their help. So – anyway – he called them, on his way to his house to get the supplies for the spell. Took his time about it. Stalling, you know…"

Her casual shrug belied the shock that was still in her eyes as she continued the story. "So – he finally gets back to the mansion – about an hour after he left us there – and – and…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at the floor, swallowing hard.

"What, Buffy? What is it?" Joyce pressed her, leaning in closer to her daughter in a subconscious desire to shield her from whatever painful knowledge was causing her so much distress. "What did he find?"

"Explosion."

The simple, brief answer took both the vampire and her mother by surprise, as the horror of what could have happened that night sunk in for both of them as well.

"The – the Council blew up the mansion. They thought we were all still inside. They – they really wanted to kill me." Buffy's tearful eyes looked up at her mother with a stricken look of horror. "Mom…Dawnie…" she glanced down at her sleeping little sister. "My God – they could have killed us all. They almost did."

"But they didn't," Spike quickly reminded her, moving in closer to wrap his strong arms around the suddenly very vulnerable girl. "They didn't, Buffy. We're all fine. You got us all out of there, and we're fine."

"Giles said – he called them, when he found the – the fire – what was left of the mansion…" Buffy went on, leaning into his comforting embrace but not quite returning it, her eyes still distant as she thought about what her Watcher had told her.

"He thought we were all dead…he was furious, out of it, called Travers screaming and hysterical – and Travers told him that – that the Council had to start over. Do the whole original ritual they used to make the first Slayer again, with a new demon. Just – start from scratch. He said – sometimes sacrifices are necessary…"

Her eyes were automatically drawn to the oblivious innocent sleeping beside her mother, and Spike followed her gaze to Dawn's peaceful face.

"Bloody bastard," he muttered, fury in his low, restrained voice. "I'll kill the bleedin'…"

"Buffy," Joyce interrupted urgently, cutting off Spike's rant before it could get started. "Does the Council know that we are still alive?"

Buffy shook her head slowly. "Not unless they've got Giles' phone bugged or something. He hasn't seen any sign of them since he found the mansion. They weren't around. He has no idea where they're staying or anything, but they have to have already been in town whenever he told them where we were – because the mansion was destroyed an hour later."

"And – he's not going to say anything?" Joyce's tone was hesitant, apologetic, as if she hated to suggest the idea that Giles might deliberately betray Buffy now that he knew what the Council was capable of – but she just couldn't help it.

Buffy met her mother's eyes as she shook her head. "No. He's not. He – he had no idea what they were going to do in the first place…and he's just going to act like he thinks we're dead. He – he wanted to come and join us, but…"

"No bloody way!" Spike cut her off indignantly. "He's lucky we're not going back just to…"

"Spike!" Buffy snapped, her edgy emotions making her tone harsher than she had intended. "No!"

The vampire instantly was quiet, looking away from her, a bit wounded by her reaction. It was in his nature to be protective, defensive of those he cared for – and now, he cared for Buffy more than anyone else in the world. She was his mate – his world – and his every instinct cried out for him to return to Sunnydale and work his vengeance on the man she had trusted like a father, who had nearly brought about her death.

The very thought of what could have happened was enough to send him into a murderous rage.

But the very sound of her sharp, commanding tone was enough to suppress it immediately.

Buffy's realization of what he was feeling, through their close physical contact and the claim that bound them, brought her out of her distance, her shocked state, and back to the present moment. Very deliberately, she relaxed herself into Spike's encircling arms, her hand coming to rest gently over his, caressing it in a soothing way – and she was relieved to feel his misgivings gradually melt away under the reassurance of her affection, as she went on.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "No, Giles really didn't mean any harm. He honestly didn't think they would hurt me. But – but that doesn't mean I'm ready to have him here with us yet. And anyway, if the Council followed him – total badness. No, it's better for him to stay there and play dumb if the Council questions him."

Joyce and Spike both silently agreed, and they all fell silent for a few moments, trying to process the shock of this latest development.

"Well," Joyce said quietly, turning back around in her seat. "At least if they think we're dead – that's one less threat to worry about, isn't it?"

She wanted to comfort her daughter, to pull her into her arms and hold her like she had when she was a child – but the sight of Spike's tender, protective embrace, the way Buffy relaxed herself against him and accepted his comfort as right, and natural, and just what she needed…

It was enough to help Joyce see that things had changed – and to accept it.

Her daughter was not a little girl anymore – she was a woman.

A full-grown, relatively mature, for all intents and purposes mystically married woman.

"I saw a sign a few miles back…we're about a hundred miles from Sunnydale, and there's a motel at the next exit…you wanna stop?" she asked, her back turned to her daughter as she turned the engine back on.

"Yeah," Buffy nodded. "I think it's time to call it a night." Her voice was exhausted, hurting.

Spike's heart hurt for her at the sound. He knew that it was quite a blow to realize that her Watcher, even accidentally, had almost caused her death and the deaths of all she held dear. If she had not emptied the mansion when she had, every last one of the Summers' and the Scoobies would have been killed.

With his highly combustible nature, even he would not have survived.

He just sat there with her in the back seat, holding her close as she tried to come to terms with what had happened. After a few moments, he noticed that she was shaking. Concerned, he pulled slightly away from her, moving to push her slightly back and look at her face.

To his surprise, she gripped his arm tightly, not allowing him to pull away – and he froze.

"Buffy?" he whispered cautiously, his eyes widening as he felt the struggle within her rising.

The powerful emotions she was experiencing were giving her demon a means to come forward – but she did not move, did not speak, her eyes closed, her grip neither tightening or loosening.

Buffy was fighting the Slayer inside her for all she was worth.

"Joyce," Spike said in a cautious, even tone, his voice still quiet and calm. "Maybe you'd best pull over again…"

Just then, Buffy suddenly jerked out of his arms, pushing him away from her hard, knocking him forcefully against the far door. He flinched slightly, expecting a physical attack. When none came, he looked up at her hesitantly – only to see her huddled against the opposite door, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms crossed over her knees, her head buried, and shaking like a leaf.

"Buffy…?" he began softly, edging closer to her.

"Don't!" she snapped, her voice trembling with anger and fear, looking up at him and shrinking farther back against the door.

He immediately understood.

For the moment, Buffy was winning the struggle. It was difficult, and traumatic, and who knew how long she could hold the upper hand? And yet – a slow smile spread across Spike's face.

He didn't say a word – not yet. He didn't want to do anything to anger the demon, or to give it more room or cause to surface. But this was actually quite an accomplishment, a positive sign – one that would help them when it came time to perform his counter-claim.

Maybe it was the fact that nothing had actually been done to provoke the demon; Buffy's strong emotions were giving it a door, but he had not resisted her, Dawn was asleep, and there was no reason for the demon itself to be upset.

But Buffy was fighting the Slayer demon, without the help of her little sister – and winning – definitely a promising development.

Still – a little help couldn't hurt.

As Buffy's shaking slowly started to subside, and it became obvious that she was winning the fight, Spike leaned cautiously up to the front seat to give Dawn's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Come on, Bit. Time to wake up."


	58. Chapter 57

Dawn's waking seemed to immediately drive the demon back, and Buffy's internal struggled instantly ceased. It was as if, with the powerful fight Buffy was already giving her, the Slayer-demon knew she would not stand a chance against the combined power of Buffy and her sister – and simply just gave up, at least for the moment.

Joyce cautiously got the car back on the road for the second time, once it appeared that Buffy was in control, and headed toward the exit and the motor inn she had mentioned. Dawn dutifully stayed awake, though she was very sleepy, turned around in her seat to keep a weary eye on her sister, who was now completely calm and quiet – if a bit morose.

"Buffy?" Spike said cautiously, edging nearer to her, concern in his voice.

"Don't," she warned him, holding up a hand and turning slightly toward him, as if to ward him off. "Spike – please – I don't want to take a chance of hurting you…"

He sat back slowly, though reluctantly. His every instinct told him to offer comfort to his mate, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and reassure her; he could feel the fear and confusion rolling off of her, and wanted to be able to do something to make it stop.

Still, he understood the danger, and was not overly eager to meet with her deranged alter ego again.

Joyce parked the car outside the tiny motel, turning around in her seat to silently gauge the situation.

Dawn was tired, but alert, as she calmly watched her sister in the backseat, with a neutral expression on her face. Buffy still sat huddled into a corner of the backseat, her knees drawn up to her chest, as far as she could get from Spike – but her head was raised, and she was clearly lucid and in control. In respect to her wishes, Spike was sitting far across the seat from her, but watching her closely, his piercing gaze searching her face with concern.

No one said a word.

"Well," Joyce finally spoke softly, breaking the silence. "I'm gonna go in and get the room. I'll be right back…"

"Rooms," Spike corrected softly.

Joyce frowned for a moment, puzzled as to his meaning – and then her eyes widened in alarmed understanding. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I know you two are – are mated and all, Spike – but you know what could happen if she loses it again. You are not going to share a room alone. She has to be near Dawn…"

"Yeah, for now," Spike agreed, slight agitation in his voice. "But she bloody well won't be when we…" His voice broke off suddenly, as it occurred to him that it might not be wise to mention their plan in front of Buffy and risk provoking her demon to attack again.

Joyce nevertheless understood. "But we're not even sure how we're going to manage that yet, Spike…"

"True. But when we do, we're gonna need a separate room. We can all stay in the one until we figure out how we're going to do this," Spike pointed out reasonably.

Joyce had to admit that he had a point. She nodded slowly. "All right," she conceded. "Be back in a minute," and she got out of the car to go inside.

A long moment of silence passed before Buffy spoke, her voice soft and miserable. "I'm sorry," she told them again. "I'm so sorry, guys…I didn't mean for this to…"

"It's all right, pet. We're gonna fix it," Spike assured her gently, his heart aching to hear the pain and sorrow in her voice. Tentatively he reached out a hand toward Buffy across the seat, in a silent offer of cautious comfort.

Buffy nodded slowly, reaching out and taking his hand in hers in a desperate, needy grip. "I think – I think I'm gonna be okay for a little while," she said quietly, relief in her voice. "Seems like after we get it fought back, it takes it a little while to get its strength back up. So we should have a little bit of time."

"Good," Spike whispered, nodding with relief in his eyes as he slowly, tentatively slid closer to her across the seat. He wanted nothing more than to be close to her. She allowed him to put his arm around her as he added encouragingly, "You did it, pet. That time you did it yourself…"

"Not completely," Buffy corrected him, shaking her head as she relaxed slightly into his arms. "I mean – I was gonna beat it – but it was giving me quite a fight until Dawn woke up. Then it was like – I don't know – it just retreated immediately. Like it – knew that Dawn could make it weaker than I could."

Dawn frowned, turning more fully in the seat to face her sister and her friend. "Then – that means it's not as weak."

Spike was confused, frowning, alarm in his eyes. "What do you mean, Bit?"

"You're saying she backed off before I could make her weak – so – she's probably trying to conserve her strength so she can attack again. But it's like – doing it while I'm right here is stupid, because me and Buffy together'll just sap her strength and make her weak again."

"So – she's retreated, but not necessarily any weaker," Buffy concluded grimly. "Just – biding her time until you're not around, Dawnie."

Dawn nodded slowly. "That's what it seems like to me."

Buffy sighed wearily. "I'm really starting to not see any way out of this besides scarring my baby sister for life."

Dawn looked up at her dubiously. "If it wasn't for Spike I'd say screw it. I'd rather let your demon kill me."

"Dawn!" Buffy looked shocked.

"Oh please," Dawn muttered. "I've heard you say a lot worse."

"I'm not talking about your language," Buffy informed her in an offended tone. "If it wasn't for Spike? That's great, but what about me? I'm not really thrilled about the idea of going through life with this Slayer thing inside me, either."

"Okay, if it wasn't for you and Spike," Dawn conceded, then frowned. "And Mom. And – whoever else the Slayer demon might hurt…oh…" She gave up, heaving a weary sigh. "Looks like I'm headed for therapy, doesn't it?" she said darkly.

Buffy did not respond.

Then, Spike spoke up slowly, his eyes widening as an idea occurred to him. "Maybe not."

Buffy gave him an expectant, hopeful look. "Whaddaya got?" she asked.

His smile was reassuring and apologetic. "Nothing I can share with the class, love. Just – just Dawnie. Well – and Joyce, when she gets back…"

"So…nothing you can share with me," Buffy amended his words flatly.

"Well – not when it concerns our uninvited eavesdropper," he reminded her, a bit defensively, anxious, pleading blue eyes searching hers and hoping that she would understand. "It's best if I don't tell you everything right now, love. Surely you understand that…"

Buffy fought back the sense of insecurity and hurt that rose automatically in her at Spike's intent to share his plan with Dawn but not with her, trying hard to remind herself that it made sense, and was the only safe thing to do. They weren't going to very well defeat this thing if it knew all their plans, were they?

She sighed. "You're right. Do you – need me to get out of the car for a minute?"

"Or we could get out," Spike offered in a conciliatory tone, aware that the situation was uncomfortable and emotionally hurtful to Buffy, and wanting to make it better.

"No," Buffy sighed again. "If you're in the car you can lock the doors if I – if something happens."

She did not wait for a response, but just got out of the car – closing the door behind her a bit harder than she needed to. She really couldn't help it. She knew that Spike was right. If she knew about whatever his idea was, then so would the Slayer demon – and that would mean that it could fight against it that much harder. It was better this way. It really was.

That did not make it any easier to accept.

She hoped that it was not going to take very long for Spike to fill Dawn in on what his plan was. The longer it took, the more time her mind had to concoct insecurities and fears. Besides, she wasn't all that sure that Spike and Dawn alone was a much safer combination than herself and Spike alone – not when she was within reach of the two of them.

The Slayer inside her did not seem pleased at being left out.

Fortunately, it was only a couple of minutes before Spike opened the back door, gesturing for her to get back in.

"All done, love – now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone light – but she could hear the forced, worried note in it.

"No, not at all," she replied sweetly with a huge smile, slamming the door a second time after sliding in.

"Buffy," he said softly, placatingly, as he reached for her hand.

"Don't touch me," she muttered as she jerked it away petulantly, turning slightly away from him in her seat.

She knew it was petty – knew that his actions had not been meant as a rejection. He was only doing what needed to be done – to help her. But somehow, she couldn't help but feel angry and insecure about the whole situation.

Some part of her, deep down, recognized with alarm that it was a combination of her own emotions and those of the demon that she was feeling, but that did not make it any easier to control what she was feeling.

Spike could feel the difference in her demeanor, and wisely backed off, though his own feelings were hurt a bit by her very real rejection.

Dawn frowned, indignant. "Buffy, he's only trying to help you! How can you…?"

"Not now, Bit," Spike cut her off quietly but firmly, catching her eye and giving her a meaningful look.

Buffy did not miss it.

"What's that about?" she snapped defensively. " 'Oh, let's try real hard not to upset the schizo, she might get dangerous or something! Let's handle her with kid gloves and not tell her anything in case she might use it against us to kill us in our sleep!'" she sneered, turning away from them both angrily.

Spike and Dawn exchanged another look, outside her line of vision. If Buffy had truly been completely in control at the moment, they knew she would not have said anything like that – for the simple reason that just such a fear was a very real concern to the real Buffy.

Demon-Buffy might very well find the thought of killing them all in their sleep a cause for sarcastic amusement.

Buffy Buffy on the other hand, would most definitely not.

But the time to act was not yet.

Joyce returned to the car, bearing two key cards to the rooms, and smiled too brightly at the occupants of the car. "We all all right?" she asked.

"Just fine," Buffy snapped, still glaring furiously out the back passenger window.

Joyce shot her a worried frown of alarm, before giving Spike a questioning look.

"You heard the girl," he said in a quiet, calm voice. "All's well, pet. Let's just get to the rooms."

She was still a bit confused, but something in the vampire's tone made Joyce obey. She pulled the car around to the back of the motel, and they all got out and made their way up the rickety old steps to the pair of second floor rooms they had procured. Joyce only bothered to unlock the door to one of them, and they all filed in, dropping piles of luggage and various items they had brought with them haphazard onto the floor.

The only one with Slayer-strength among them had carried nothing, and had gone directly into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Joyce shot the violently closed door a worried look, before asking in a low, carefully calm voice, "Someone wanna tell me what's going on?"

Dawn opened her mouth to speak, but before she could respond to her mother's question, Buffy had opened the door to the bathroom and was already emerging again, a much different expression on her face.

She smiled brightly as she said, "So what's to eat? I seriously doubt this place has any kind of room service, so are we gonna order in a pizza, or have vending machine cuisine?" Although her words and tone were pleasant -- falsely so -- the anger in her eyes was still clearly visible, and the underlying sarcasm was thick in her voice.

Joyce stared at her apparently dangerously psychotic daughter blankly, and then looked questioningly between the vampire and her youngest daughter. She was not sure whether or not she should feel reassured by the fact that neither of them seemed surprised by Buffy's strange behavior.

"Um, Mom?" Dawn asked in a pointed tone, glancing obviously at Buffy, who was lying on one of the double beds, flipping frenetically through channels on the TV with the remote control. "Let's – um – check out the other room, okay?"

Joyce looked at her as if she had just lost her mind. "I don't think it's a good idea to leave Buffy alone here with…"

Her voice was simultaneously drowned out and trailed off as Buffy rolled her eyes viciously and pointedly turned the television up. The expression on her face screamed volatile, hormonal adolescence, and brought to Joyce's mind a memory of just such an action by Dawn a couple of weeks ago, when she and Buffy had been discussing something to do with the younger daughter's schoolwork or something like that.

It was identical to what Dawn had done at that time -- a pointless little rebellion designed to prove just how much she did not care that they were talking about her as if she was not there.

Except – Buffy did seem to care. Frighteningly too much.

Joyce gave Dawn a pointed look, eyebrows raised as if to say, "See?"

"I think that's a bloody good idea," Spike said with an easy smile, his eyes focused on Joyce's confused gaze. "Go on, now, love. You'll just be a minute or two…what could happen in a minute or two?"

Joyce stared again for a long moment, before asking another question, her voice low and calm.

"Have you two completely lost your minds?"

"Joyce," Spike said soothingly, drawing closer to her, taking the older woman's arm and leaning in close to whisper something in her ear, clearly inaudible to Buffy over the obnoxiously loud television.

Buffy's voice was louder and more obnoxious.

"I'm right here, you know!" she snapped in a scathing, furious tone.

Joyce looked slowly between her volatile, moody daughter and the vampire beside her, quietly encouraging her to go with her youngest daughter and leave him alone with the potentially very violent, obviously furious young woman who could break him with a single touch.

"Okay," she said softly, nodding, as she followed Dawn out the door of the room, closing it firmly behind her.

Leaving Spike alone with his paranoid, agitated, and very dangerous mate.


	59. Chapter 59

Buffy glared suspiciously at the closed door through which her mother and sister had just disappeared, before turning her sullen gaze on her mate, who was just closing the curtains, after having watched from the window to be sure that Joyce and Dawn got into the second room safely.

After all, one couldn't be too careful.

When he turned to see the look of anger and hostility that she was sending his way, he flashed her a mocking smile, flopping down casually in a chair beside the bed across the room from the one she was lying on. Fully aware that his careless, dismissive attitude with her would surely enrage her, he commented flippantly.

"Oh, don't worry, pet. I'm sure they'll be back whenever they get bored with talking about you." He glanced slyly up at her to gauge her reaction as he finished his words.

He barely had time to register the flash of anger in her eyes of jade before she was across the room, her hand fisted viciously in his hair, one knee resting on the chair, pressed between his legs in a way that elicited a frightened gasp from his lips.

Before he could release the startled cry that rose in his throat, her other hand was pressed firmly over his mouth forcing his head back as she leaned in closer, a malicious smile on her face as she whispered, "You know what I think, Sweetheart? I think you're very stupid."

He winced as she pressed her knee in harder against his groin, but made no attempt to fight her off. In fact, he was remarkably calm, considering his position – a condition that the power-hungry Slayer demon found intolerably annoying, and planned to quickly remedy.

Spike's eyes widened in pain and shock as she drove her knee sharply inward, yanking his head in closer to her to hiss in his ear in a tone of mock apology and concern, "Oh, I'm sorry – you were planning on using that later, weren't you?"

She met his eyes with a chilling look of angry, accusation and triumph, reminding him that she knew about their plan, and was not pleased about it – and apparently had some rather alarming ideas of ways to keep it from happening. She hadn't done any real damage yet – but he had the feeling that she meant to change that very quickly.

"On second thought," she whispered with a cold smile. "Kinda not sorry…"

By the time I get through with you, she continued, her voice in his head all the more oppressive and intimidating for its unsettling intimacy. you won't be claiming anybody, you presumptuous little fool! Did you really think that you could…

The thought was cut off abruptly when, as before, Dawn's small, firm hand closed on the Slayer's arm. The older girl immediately stood up and turned around, but she had been so thoroughly focused on her assault on her mate that she had not even noticed the return of Joyce and Dawn to the room, and it took her a moment to recover enough to even attempt to pull away from the younger girl's grip.

And by then, it was too late.

The moment that Dawn's hand came into contact with her sister's arm, Buffy began fighting, struggling her way back to the surface of her consciousness. And as she was beginning to learn how better to fight the thing that was trying to gain mastery of her body, it was only a minute or two before Buffy was back in control.

She started to pull out of Dawn's grip, but to her surprise, her sister just held on tighter.

"No, Buffy – not yet," she instructed firmly, frowning in concentration as she focused on pushing the demon back as far as possible.

Buffy was a bit confused, but complied with her sister's words, focusing on the struggle that she would have abandoned as complete, until she could no longer feel even the slightest trace of the demon's power within her. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that it was gone completely.

Of course – she did know better.

"That was weird," she remarked, a dark look of worry in her eyes. "She like – snuck up on me. Gradually. It wasn't like she just all at once took over. It was – sort of – little by little…"

"We noticed," Spike replied dryly, his voice coming out a bit hoarse with the pain she had caused him. The shift in Buffy's attitude from the moment she had gotten back into the car had made it clear that she was no longer completely in the driver's seat, even before the demon took over more thoroughly.

Buffy frowned, concerned when she remembered what she had just done, but Dawn quickly drew her attention away from Spike for the moment. "Don't worry," she reassured her. "We'll go ahead and get this thing beat, and then you won't have to worry about what nasty tricks she's picking up."

"So – how do you feel, Buffy?" Joyce asked cautiously, her concerned gaze searching her daughter's expression intently.

Dawn had quickly filled her in on the plan she and Spike had discussed while they were in the other room. And, while she did have her doubts as to the wisdom of the first step, it seemed to have gone off without too much trouble.

Now if only it had worked…

Buffy considered for a moment, still a bit disoriented from the whole incident. Her answer was slow and careful when she gave it. "Better. Stronger. Like – like we just knocked her unconscious or something."

Dawn and Spike exchanged a look of excited satisfaction – and just the fact that Buffy felt no stirring of anger, as she usually did, at the evidence of their closeness, was a good sign that she was fully in control, at least for the moment.

"So – what exactly did we just do again?" she asked, hesitant.

Things were still far from clear to her.

"Well, it's like this, love," Spike said, standing up from the chair with a little wince at his more sensitive bits being rather – well, sensitive. "When Dawn said what she did about the thing conserving its strength – and you said how it seems to be weakened after fighting us and not able to put up much of a fuss for a while – I thought…maybe that's our solution to how to perform the claim…"

Dawn broke in then, too excited to let him tell the whole story. "So we tricked her! We made her angry on purpose and made her come out, instead of just hiding away getting stronger! And then me and you managed to fight her back – that's why I said to keep on fighting, because we want her as weak as possible so you guys have as long as you need to – get it on like Donkey Kong."

"Dawnie!" Joyce gasped, eyes wide and startled as she looked at her youngest daughter.

Dawn looked genuinely confused. "What?" she asked. "Please, Mom, I'm in high school! Would you rather I said…"

"No, she wouldn't," Buffy hurriedly cut her little sister off. "No time for conversation, anyway, if I understand the situation correctly." She looked at her mate as she went on in a serious, no nonsense sort of tone, "She's not even putting up a fight at all, and she would be if she could, since she's obviously violently against the idea of the claim. She's as weak as she'll ever be. Let's do this now."

Spike nodded grimly, finally feeling able to stand from the chair where he was sitting. "Right then – no time to waste, yeah?" His voice held just a hint of nervousness at the realization that the moment of battle, so to speak, was upon them.

It was all happening so quickly.

Much too quickly for Joyce.

"Wait – wait a second!" she objected with alarm. "Are we sure that this thing is really – restrained, or weakened, or whatever? What if she's just waiting to get Spike alone again?"

They all fell silent for a moment, considering the frightening implications of her words.

"No," Buffy said at last with certainty. "I can feel it. She's weak right now. Now's the time to do it. Didn't you feel it, Dawn?" She looked to her little sister to back up her assessment of the situation.

"Yep," Dawn agreed with a nod. "She fought hard but we beat her. We shouldn't give her time to get her strength back."

"What if she gets her strength back during the – the claim?" Joyce persisted, a thousand worries coursing through her mind. The whole thing was so dangerous, so uncertain, so – permanent. Of course, she knew that Buffy's life was full of decisions like this. She faced dangerous, life-altering choices on a daily basis, due to her calling.

It was something that Joyce would never get used to.

They fell silent again at that question, before Buffy turned to Spike decisively.

"When I got the cooler out of your trunk back at the mansion, I saw a set of manacles in there. Maybe you ought to go get them."

"You keep chains in your trunk?" Dawn exclaimed, wide-eyed. Then after a beat, "That is so cool!"

"Dawnie, honey," Buffy said in a sugary sweet, overly patient voice, "not so much with the 'yay, go bondage!', okay? Mom's freaked out enough."

"You keep chains in your trunk?" Joyce echoed Dawn's words quietly, but in a much less amused tone.

"Hello! Vampire!" Spike objected defensively. "You never know when you might want to tie somebody up, and a good set of chains might come in right…I'm really not helping my case, here, am I?" he finished flatly.

Buffy shook her head, smiling at him with a sudden feeling of amused affection. "Just – stop talking and go get the chains, Spike."

"Um – if you remember, Honey," Joyce reminded Buffy anxiously as Spike made his way past them out to the car, "that didn't work out so well last time. Even though you were chained up, you were able to force him to come to you and set you free. So he could still end up hurt, whether you're chained or not!"

"She's still to weak to put up any kind of fight," Buffy reassured her mother. "Otherwise she'd be fighting right now. She knows what we're planning – she just can't do anything about it at the moment." She paused, her expression becoming sober at her next words.

"At least with the chains – if she does start to come back too soon – Spike should have a little time to work with, to get to you guys and get Dawn." She frowned, as Joyce's eyes widened in alarm at the mental images that thought called up, adding as an afterthought,

"After he covers any nakedness that might be happening, of course. So as not to scar the child."

"I'm not a child," Dawn groused, almost automatically.

"But – but Buffy…" Joyce began again anxiously.

"Mom."

Buffy gently cut her off, pressing her fingertips to her mother's lips lightly for silence, and giving her a smile that was reassuring and apologetic at once, as she stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm having sex with Spike. I'm becoming his eternal mate. I – I know that's a lot to accept, but try to remember that I'm doing this to save my family, the Slayer line, and possibly the world. Okay?"

Joyce sighed, looking away for a moment, before meeting Buffy's eyes in a rueful smile of reluctant acceptance. "Okay, Buffy. It's – it's hard to think of my – my little girl…" Her words broke off, and she shook her head in dismissal of her own worries. "…but you're doing what you have to do, Buffy. I know you have no choice, really…"

"No choice at all," Buffy confirmed, shaking her head with a slight smile.

"Dawn, honey, let's go ahead to the other room," Joyce said softly, giving her daughter's arm a light, affectionate squeeze before moving away to gather up the bags that they had brought into the room, but thankfully not unpacked yet.

Dawn obediently picked up her bags, stopping at the door to smile sarcastically at her sister. "Yeah," she said dryly. "you're all with the big sacrifices, arentcha?"

Buffy grinned, caught – and unashamed. No, she had to admit. This time, what it was going to take to fulfill her Slayer duty to the world could have been decidedly less pleasant – a lot less pleasant – than sleeping with Spike.

"Well, you know…sacred duty and all that," she shrugged with a cheeky smirk.

Dawn just rolled her eyes and walked past her sister out onto the walkway. She stopped, turning to face Buffy as her amused expression became softly serious.

"Don't die," she instructed softly, a teasing light in her blue eyes – but the affection, the genuine concern, was clear in her voice. Then she cocked an eyebrow at the Slayer and added in a dubious tone, "And don't kill my best friend."

"I won't – either thing – I promise," Buffy assured her, her own eyes serious as they met her little sister's. "Dawnie, have Mom's cell out and on where you can hear it immediately. If you hear my ring, don't wait. Get to our room, quick, okay?" As she spoke, she pressed the key card to the room she and Spike would be using into Dawn's hand.

"Okay," Dawn agreed solemnly, accepting the card – before suddenly dropping her bags and leaning in impulsively to give Buffy a quick, slightly awkward hug. "Iloveyou," she breathed out in a barely audible rush, slightly embarrassed by the sentiment, as she began to pull back.

But Buffy held her there for a moment longer. "I love you, too, Dawnie," she whispered in her ear before releasing her.

Joyce gathered the last of her things and headed toward the door, giving Buffy a troubled, anxious look.

"Mom – it's gonna be fine. We have to do this," Buffy reminded her mother firmly, looking her directly in the eyes. "I promise, everything's gonna be fine."

Joyce stared at her for a long moment, fear for her little girl and respect for the woman she had become warring within her. Finally, she forced a brave smile and nodded decisively.

"Okay. Call me when you're – well…" she hesitated, frowning, as she amended. "Call me if you – if you need…"

"Mom – just go."

At that point, Joyce had to acknowledge that the soft, understanding order was a good idea. She nodded quickly, letting out a deep nervous breath.

"Yes. Go. This is me going, now," she smiled ruefully at Buffy, as she turned and followed her youngest daughter, who was already unlocking the door to the room a few doors down.

Buffy watched them disappear safely into the room before closing the door and turning to face her mate.

Spike was standing by the bed, watching her through blue eyes darkened nearly to midnight with his unquenchable desire for her – the same desire that was slowly engulfing her, for him.

It had been only a little more than a day – but it had been far too long.

The fever of her longing blazing in her eyes, she gave the uncharacteristically silent blonde vampire a slow, almost shy kind of smile as she started toward him, as she murmured in a soft, ironically matter-of-fact sort of voice.

"Well – I guess this is it…time to save the world."


	60. Chapter 60

As Buffy moved slowly around the first bed toward her mate, she was struck by the power of the myriad swirling emotions in his eyes. She saw, of course, his powerful desire and need for her, and the love that he no longer tried to deny, and could not hide. She saw the determination that whatever the cost to himself, he would do whatever it took to protect not only Buffy, but Joyce and Dawn as well – all those that he loved so dearly.

And mingled in with these emotions, she saw that the midnight pools were touched with a hint of wary caution. He still could not be completely sure if she was in control, or if they had all been cleverly deceived. It did not bother her or surprise her to see the subtle suspicion in his eyes.

He would have been a fool had it not been there.

Time to save the world…

He smiled softly in response to her gentle irony. "Well…how are you feeling, love? Still strong enough to do this? How's our little friend?" he asked her, his eyes solemn and serious as he tried to feel out the situation.

Buffy shook her head with a satisfied smile. "No sign of her. I think we're still good for a while." As she spoke, she slowly made her way around the first bed to where Spike stood, between the two.

She noticed as she neared him that the blonde vampire's hands were trembling slightly, and he drew back just the slightest fraction, probably without even realizing that he had. If she had not been so completely in tune with his feelings as she was due to the claim, she might not have noticed the motion at all.

As it was, she recognized it immediately.

He was scared.

She held her hands out slightly, palms up, as she approached him, in the universal gesture of harmlessness.

"Come on," she said softly, encouragingly. "Come here."

There was just the barest instant of hesitation before Spike obediently went to her, his unsteady hands cautiously extended to touch hers. She clasped his hands gently in hers, drawing him slowly in nearer to her – and frowned with concern when he shied away slightly, as her body brushed against his, still sore and sensitive from the Slayer's earlier assault.

She released one of his hands, raising her own to caress his cheek gently, her eyes meeting his in a sad, silent apology. Holding her eyes, he pressed his cheek gently into her hand in an affectionate response to her touch, bravely edging in nearer to her to show her that he trusted her, knew that she would not hurt him.

Buffy smiled, pleased and relieved with his response, her hand on his cheek sliding around to rest behind his head, pulling him into a slow, tender kiss. Her hand played through his blonde curls in a slow, soothing rhythm as she pulled him in closer and deepened the kiss, heightening both of their desires at the intimate contact.

At her touch, he was certain.

This was his Buffy – his mate. He could sense no trace of the Slayer demon at the moment, knew that she was unable to act, as Buffy had said. For the moment – he was safe.

For the moment.

With an apologetic grimace, his eyes closed, he raised their still-joined hands up between them, breaking the kiss and pushing back slightly, silent for a moment as he caught his breath.

"Buffy," he said softly, his voice low and even, as he opened his eyes to look at her, silently willing her to understand. "I know this is – this is eternity, love. It's – it's a big bloody deal, to say the least…"

When he hesitated, Buffy nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He took a deep breath as he went on, "I – I'd love to give you the night you'd set up back at the mansion – the wine and candles and romance, love…you know I've a weakness for all that myself – but…" He paused, his searching eyes piercing hers, searching for the understanding he hoped to find there.

"…you know there's no time…right, love?"

Buffy gave him a reassuring smile as she nodded slowly in acceptance. "I know. We don't know how much time we'll have before she comes back. We need to just – just do this."

She paused, a wistful sort of sadness to her smile as she continued, "I really wanted to be able to do this right for you, Spike – to make it up to you, back at the mansion, for the way I – the way I treated you before. But – it seems like things never go quite as planned."

"Tell me about it," Spike laughed ruefully, shaking his head. "Every bloody plan I've ever made has gone south, love…" He suddenly frowned as it occurred to him just exactly what he had said.

"Except…for…this one – of course," he amended slowly, amusement mingled with a trace of genuine alarm in his eyes at his unfortunate choice of wording, as he met her sparkling gaze. "This one won't."

Buffy laughed in spite of their situation, at the utterly adorable expression of exaggerated horror on his face. "No," she reassured him softly, her hand gently repeating its tender caress down the side of his face, her eyes shining with mingled amusement, and a wondering sort of affection. "It won't."

Why had she never noticed before these past few days just how breathtakingly beautiful his eyes were?

And just when had he managed to slip in and steal her heart away?

"But," she went on teasingly, freeing the hand he still held to rest on his hip and draw him gently nearer to her, "just for safety's sake – let's just call this one my plan."

Spike laughed softly, a smirk rising to his lips. "Right, love -- even though you didn't have a soddin' clue…"

His gentle mockery was suddenly swallowed up in a gasp of intense pleasure that consumed him, as Buffy's hand found her mark on his throat, moving in a slow, circuler motion that drove his need for her to the forefront of his heart, body, and mind.

Just like that, the playful, light mood between them shifted, to something darker, richer, sweeter – as Spike felt in her touch the smoldering desire she held for him, the longing she had to touch him, to feel him – only a mirror image of his own desire for her.

He felt his legs weaken beneath him, and Buffy gently pushed him backward to sit down on the edge of the bed behind him as she reluctantly withdrew her touch. He opened hazy blue eyes in a silent question, wondering why she had withdrawn – to see her holding the cell phone she had just taken from her pocket. Her eyes were wide and sober when his found them, as she instructed him quietly but earnestly.

"I'm gonna put this right here on the nightstand," she told him. "It's set to Mom's number so all you have to do is push send. If you even think anything might be about to go wrong – you push that button. Dawn knows to come running if she hears it ring."

He looked from the phone back to her serious emerald eyes, suppressing a smile. "Right mood killer, pet – talking 'bout your mum and sis in the bedroom…"

As he spoke, Buffy set the phone down and returned her hand to the mark lightly, though not moving it – not wanting him distracted from what she had to say next – as she brought the wrist of the same hand to hover near his lips.

"Drink," she said simply, her voice low, husky – entrancing.

"And just like that," he went on, without missing a beat, "the mood is back. Like bloody magic." With an effort he raised his eyes in a silent question from her offered wrist to her calm, intent eyes. "Buffy…?"

"You need every advantage you can get here, Spike," she explained in a firm, insistent voice. "If she does make an appearance before we're finished – you need to be physically stronger than me. Drink."

She shifted her arm slightly, pressing her wrist closer to his parted lips, and his eyes focused again on the enticing gift she was offering him. The memory of the taste of her rich, warm blood a few hours earlier filled his mouth, as his unneeded breath quickened in longing.

It made perfect sense to accept her offer – but somehow, the thought of taking Buffy's blood, not for pleasure or for healing, but as simple nourishment, was a bit unsettling to him. It made it seem as if she was no different from the hundreds of other girls that had been nothing more than meals to him over the years.

And she was so much more to him than that.

"I – I don't want to, Buffy," he protested hesitantly, but his eyes were uncertain as they met hers, giving him away instantly – as did his manhood's "miraculous recovery" which she felt brush against her legs as she moved in nearer between his legs, standing in front of him as he sat on the bed.

"Liar."

Spike smiled a bit sheepishly, acknowledging that he was caught out with a little half-shrug. "Right. Didn't really expect you to buy that – but – I can't, Buffy – not like that."

"She hurt you," Buffy said, an edge of anger creeping into her voice at the thought. "And you're still not completely recovered from the last time," she reminded him. "If we're going to pull this off, you have to be strong. You need to do this. I need you to do this. Drink."

The hard, unyielding insistence in her voice sent a shiver down his spine at the lately-not-so-latent power it revealed. She was so much more than just the mere girl that most would have thought her to be. She was the most powerful Slayer who had existed so far – his mate – his claimant – and she was asking – no, demanding -- that he accept the precious gift of her own life's blood.

How could he possibly refuse her?

She sensed the change in his demeanor, his acceptance, and pressed her wrist firmly to his lips. Obediently he shifted his form, revealing razor sharp fangs that slid through her silky skin so smoothly, so easily, that she barely felt the brief sting of pain – before it was swallowed up in pleasure.

Buffy let out a soft moan of pleasure as her free hand moved unconsciously to Spike's hair, pressing him nearer to her. Her eyes widened with shock for a moment at the intensity of sensation – before closing completely as she let her head fall back slightly, losing herself in the sweet sensation of connection as her blood was drawn from her body into that of her mate.

"Spike," she gasped when, after a few moments, she began to feel light-headed and dizzy. "Spike!"

The slight alarm he heard in her voice, the little shudder of weakness he felt course through her, warned him that the time to stop had come, all too soon. Gently he withdrew his fangs from her wrist, laving the already healing wound with his cool tongue, soothing it closed and staying the flow of her blood.

Feeling an exhilarating strength flow through him, he stood, his hands reaching to hold Buffy's arms, gently steadying her, as he turned the weakened Slayer around and reversed their positions, helping her to sit down on the bed with her back to the headboard for support. He sat down carefully beside her, searching her slightly distant gaze with anxious concern in his eyes.

"You all right, love?" he asked softly, his voice low and cautious. "I'm sorry – I took too much…"

"No." Buffy shook her head in denial, smiling, if a bit dazedly. "You need it. You need to be strong if she comes back."

Spike studied her face for a long moment, trying to gauge if she was really all right, or just trying to soothe his guilty worries. His heart was filled with a warmth, an affection, for the girl who had once been his mortal enemy, but now meant more to him than anyone ever had.

The powerful attraction he had felt had blossomed into a full blown, complete devotion over the past couple of days, and perhaps the feelings had started out as a mere result of her claim, but he knew that now, it was so much more than that.

Whatever their source, the feelings he had for Buffy were more real and genuine than anything he had ever felt before.

He only wondered if she could ever feel the same way about him.

As the dizzy haze of pleasure from his bite passed from her, Buffy's eyes opened again to focus on the pensive blonde, still studying her with piercing sapphire eyes.

"What?" she asked softly, feeling more than a bit self-conscious. "What is it?"

Spike was silent for a moment, the expression on his face telling her that he was searching for just the right words. Finally, he replied in a quiet, hesitant voice.

"Buffy – do you want to do this?"

Her responding smile was warmly teasing as she replied, "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

The crestfallen look on his face took her by surprise for a moment – until she realized how her words had come out, much differently than she had meant them. His gaze fell to the bedspread between them, his hand moving unconsciously from hers as he began to physically withdraw from her in order to mask his hurt.

Buffy was not about to allow it.

"Hey," she said gently, reaching out to catch his hand before he could pull it out of her reach, "that's not what I meant."

He did not pull his hand away from her, but he did not look up at her either, his eyes downcast and a bit too wide, as he fought not to show the deep emotions her word created in him.

"Spike," Buffy pressed softly, her thumb rubbing a slow, soothing circle on his upturned palm, "listen…no, I probably wouldn't have chosen this. Not – not so soon, anyway. I mean – it's been a matter of a couple weeks since we were trying to kill each other."

Spike released a soft little chuckle in spite of himself, shaking his head and smiling. He had to admit, when she put it that way – two weeks ago, he would never have imagined that they would have been here, like this, either.

"But I have to say," Buffy went on, the humor in her voice fading to tenderness, "if nothing else good comes out of this whole thing – I'm glad that it's allowed me to get to know you better, Spike. To see – the person you really are – behind the Big Bad."

"I am the Big Bad," Spike protested, but there wasn't much fire in his argument, and it seemed almost more of an automatic response than anything else.

Buffy graciously let it pass without comment, going on with what she had been saying instead. "You protected my family – from me -- when you knew how badly you could get hurt by doing it. Because you genuinely care about them. You've stood by me and forgiven me for things these past few days…" Her voice broke off, and she shook her head slightly, momentarily at a loss for words, in awe of his strength and devotion.

When she looked back up at him, she concluded softly, "I think that if circumstances had been different – and I'd had the chance to see you for who you really are, without the end-of-the-world drama to get in the way – I'd still have chosen you. And as it is – since I didn't have a choice – well, if I have to not have a choice, there's no choice I'd rather not have."

She frowned. "And I think I just confused myself. That made no sense at all – did it?"

Spike's slightly puzzled expression melted into a warm smile, his eyes shining with joy and gratitude. Despite her awkward wording, her feelings were clear enough.

"Yes, it does," he assured her. "Makes right perfect sense."

But then, his smile faded, his expression sober as he reiterated emphatically, "Just so you're sure. Because there's no going back once this is done."

Buffy held his gaze firmly, unfaltering. "I'm sure," she told him, nodding with certainty.

"All right, then," he nodded, reaching down to pick up the chains he had left by the bed before meeting her eyes again in a mischievous smile.

"Now what's this you say about 'saving the world'?"


	61. Chapter 61

Buffy sat up on the edge of the bed, and the Slayer and the vampire undressed quickly in silence, as the weight of what they were about to do began to become real to them. Buffy finished before Spike did, turning the bedspread back and lying down on the bed to wait for him.

The impact of what he was preparing for – taking an eternal mate – as well as the risks involved, was beginning to dawn on him, and showing itself in the nervous trembling of his hands as he fumbled with his belt, finally managing to get out of the restrictive confines of his dark jeans.

When he turned to face her, drawing in a deep, slightly uneven breath – it was immediately stolen away from him by the sight that met his eyes.

Buffy was lying on the bed on her back, completely naked, her perfectly bronzed body revealed to him, as he stood there and simply took in the breathtaking sight of her. She had already fastened the manacles to the bedposts on either side of her, and locked her left wrist into one of them. She fumbled awkwardly to get her right wrist into the other, having only the use of her right hand to work with.

Finally, she gave up with an adorable, frustrated little pout as she turned her anxious emerald eyes up to him.

"Help me?" she requested, her eyes wide and pleading, and full of a certain innocence and vulnerability, in spite of everything, that caught him off guard.

Bloody hell.

His nervousness was instantly forgotten, swallowed up in sheer desire, as he swiftly closed the distance between them, in once quick motion fastening the loose manacle around her wrist.

"Try and get away," he instructed, his voice low and husky with his arousal, but his eyes serious.

He had to know if she was going to be able to break those chains, should she end up trying.

She strained against the bonds, writhing slightly on the bed as she tried to break their hold – with no success. "Can't," she assured him with a note of satisfaction in her voice.

His serious expression shifted to a teasing smirk, as his eyes slowly trailed up the length of her luscious body.

"You sure? Maybe you ought to try again."

Buffy's eyes narrowed in an expression that would have been dangerous, had she not been chained up at his mercy, but she smiled as she replied cheerfully, "Pig."

Spike's response was a self-deprecating shrug, accepting the mildly stated insult, before silencing her mouth completely with a tender, thorough kiss that left her suddenly breathless and straining toward him against the chains that held her, when he pulled away.

He smiled at her useless efforts, as he climbed onto the bed, straddling her and leaning down to kiss her again – once again pulling away before she was satisfied, lowering his mouth to kiss his way down to her throat. He paused for a moment over the rapidly fluttering pulse point where he would later leave his mark.

She moaned softly when he sucked gently on the spot, closing his teeth lightly around it in a tempting promise of what was to come, before continuing the blissfully torturous journey of his mouth down her body to her sensitive breasts, now aching with need.

His blunt human teeth closed carefully around one erect nipple, grazing it lightly as he pulled slowly back away from it, and drawing a soft whimper of protest from her lips when he released it and raised up slightly to look her in the eye, his own gaze hooded and darkened with lust.

"Spike," she gasped. "Please – don't stop…don't…" she whispered, her back arching off of the mattress, her needy breast seeking further contact as her wrists strained futilely against the manacles.

"Impatient little chit, aren't you?" Spike smirked, running his cool fingertips slowly down her ribcage on either side, driving her mad with the light, tingling touch.

"You're the one – who said…" Buffy struggled breathlessly to get the words out as his thumb obligingly moved to circle the mercilessly teased nipple his mouth had just left. "…gotta…make this quick…"

Spike's low, warm laugh was musical in her ears, warming her heart as he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, his hands increasing the intensity of his exploration of her body, pulling her closer to him as his throbbing erection brushed against her sodden, longing center, without actually entering her – yet.

"Maybe not so quick," he murmured against her throat, just before his teeth nipped gently at her sensitive skin and drew another little gasp and shudder of pleasure from the deliciously helpless Slayer. "Might have a bit of time…how do you feel?"

Somehow even the softly spoken reminder of the danger of their situation sounded sexy when he said it in that low, throaty voice that was almost a purr – or a growl – or some equally predatorily sexy feline noise.

"Fine," she admitted in a soft, distracted voice, nodding as he scraped his teeth lightly along her neck down to her shoulder, before resuming the tender kisses along her collarbone that made her moan softly with pleading and pleasure, longing to hold him in her arms, to pull him closer to her – frustrated and aroused by the fact that she could not – that for once, she was his to possess – to command…

Her eyes suddenly shot open in alarm, and her body tensed as the unfortunate train of thought she had taken caused a strange stirring deep within her that had nothing to do with the pleasurable stirrings Spike was creating elsewhere in her body.

Spike immediately felt the difference in his lover, and pulled back slightly, frowning as he searching her distant, hazy eyes.

"Buffy?" he said in a low, cautious whisper. "Not so fine after all?"

With an extreme force of will, Buffy pushed back with all her strength against the indignant rage she felt building up inside her, deliberately focusing on her mate through the rising struggle.

"Spike," she whispered, her eyes finding his and struggling to get her words out while holding back the Slayer demon that was trying to overcome her. "she's fighting. It's the chains – she doesn't like it…"

Spike rose up off of her slightly, concern and uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced at the manacles, and then at their key where it lay on the nightstand beside Buffy's cell phone. He wasn't sure what he could do to help her; would it be easier for her to fight it back if she was not bound – if the demon didn't feel so restrained?

"Should I…?"

"No!" Buffy snapped in alarm, without meaning to, and the fear in her voice, for his safety, took the sting from her tone. "No," she repeated, softer, laying her head back on the pillow, her breath coming hard and fast as she closed her eyes and tried her best to fight the demon back. "Whatever I tell you to do – don't unchain me…"

Spike watched her closely, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a way to help her. "That's all well and good, love – until you order me to later and I can't resist it…" he reminded her.

Buffy let out a soft little groan as the struggle within her intensified, and her body tensed up again under him. "She shouldn't be able to – order you…" she gasped, frowning with concentration as she tried to keep her thoughts together. "…I claimed you…not her…"

"But if she's in your body, your voice, making a command…the claim's not just emotional or spiritual, pet, it's physical too…" Spike tried to explain, wondering even if he did if Buffy was still in enough control to be able to understand what he was telling her, and if their time could be better spent, considering that it appeared that the demon was starting to get the upper hand.

"Still," Buffy protested a bit weakly, pausing, her jaw set with determination as she pushed back as hard as she could against the force trying to take her over. "you'd think…my command would…would…"

Spike's eyes widened as he finished her thought in his mind, realizing what it was she was saying – and how very important it might be.

"…would override hers," he said aloud, in a voice of grim certainty. "Buffy!" he put a hand to her cheek, turning her face to look her in the eye, piercing blue eyes seeking hers and struggling to make her focus. "Buffy, you have to order it now…so that she can't undo it when she – when she takes over…"

He saw a flash of understanding in Buffy's confused, pain-filled emerald eyes, before she nodded weakly, her right hand straining slightly against the chains. "I have to – have to…" she whispered, unable to finish the words, her voice fading even as she attempted to speak, with the physical exertion of the struggle.

Spike knew he was taking a terrible chance, but he knew what she was trying to say. They needed all the force of the claim behind the command she was about to give him, so that it would be as binding as possible, as unbreakable by the Slayer demon as it could possibly be. He reached for the key and unchained her right wrist, drawing it with trembling hands toward his throat.

He felt sick with fear, knowing the risk he was taking, the damage that could be done if the demon overwhelmed Buffy in this moment – but she had to be touching him for it to work.

He felt her hand clench slightly on his throat, as another forceful spasm hit her, and she struggled to fight it back. He watched her face intently as her jaw worked with the effort of pushing back the intruder within her, and felt a sense of relief as she managed to gain a moment's advantage, and her hand on his throat relaxed a little, as her eyes opened and focused momentarily on his with an arresting gaze.

"Spike," she said in a voice of unquestionable authority, and he recognized the power of her claim in her tone. Whatever she was about to say, he would be powerless but to obey her. "No matter what I tell you to do after this – no matter what happens – you will not unchain me until I've accepted your claim. You will not stop, even if I tell you to, until I have been claimed as your own – and accepted it."

"Yes, Buffy," Spike softly accepted her command, his hand gently caressing hers where it rested, trembling, over her mark on his throat. He nodded once, slowly, solemnly, closing his eyes and simply feeling the intense power of the bond that made him hers.

He felt the power of her claim, knew that he would hardly be physically capable of disobeying, if it came to that. He gently removed her hand from the mark, though he hated to break the intensity of their connection, and drew it back to the chain that had held it, locking it around her wrist again now, while she was still in enough control to allow it.

Except – control did not seem to be much of an issue at the moment. Not anymore.

Buffy's labored gasps as she slowly caught her breath, were the only sound in the room for a few moments, as his questioning gaze studied her, noting how the tension seemed to be slowing easing from her body, as she laid her head back on the bed, her eyes closed.

"Buffy?" All he said was her name, but the question was clear.

She shook her head, a weak little smile of triumph rising to her lips. "She's gone. Well – not gone gone – but she quit. For now. She's not trying to come out anymore," she assured him, opening her eyes to meet his with elation.

Spike's eyes widened in surprise. " 'M not quite sure I get it, love. Why would she just give up like that when she knows what we're about to do?"

Buffy shrugged slightly, looking away thoughtfully. "Makes sense, I guess," she said after a moment. "if you think about it. Why would she keep struggling to take over when she knows that she can't make you unchain her, no matter how hard she tries -- can't make you stop until you've claimed me…what's the point, when the command I just gave you would override anything she tried to make you do?"

He nodded slowly, realizing that she was right, before his mouth set in a grim line as he pointed out, "She's most likely saving her strength for the battle. The dominance ritual."

"Won't do her any good," Buffy smiled softly at him, her breath becoming steady as her body began to relax, no longer wracked by the painful battle that had consumed her moments before. "She doesn't stand a chance."

"So – I've got one question, love," Spike said slowly, his eyes once again trailing in a lingering gaze down the Slayer's supple body, none-the-less enticing to him glistening with the slight sheen of the perspiration from her struggle, her golden hair disheveled and falling slightly into her face.

"What's -- uuhh -- that?" she gasped in surprise, her head falling back against the pillow again as Spike's roving fingers found her swollen center.

"Since demon-girl doesn't seem to be planning on making another appearance – does she?" he paused for confirmation, one eyebrow raised questioningly over a self-satisfied smirk, as he dipped a finger tentatively inside her in an almost casual manner as he waited for her response.

A soft moan was his response as Buffy's back arched slightly and she squirmed impatiently under his far-too-gentle touch. "No," she replied in a shuddering whisper.

Spike nodded his acceptance of the answer he had expected as he went on in a low, measured and incredibly enticing voice,

"Well, then. Any reason you can think of – why we'd still need to rush this?"

Buffy's eyes widened in realization of his meaning, and she looked at him with a bit of dismay in her eyes. "Spike – please…" she said in a voice that was little more than a whimper. "Please – I can't wait – I need you…she – she could come back," she pointed out weakly. "Never know…please…"

Spike chuckled softly, his cool lips vibrating lightly with the sound as they came to rest on the top of her breast for a moment, before he raised his head to meet her eyes with a wicked smirk.

"Good. Didn't think so."


	62. Chapter 62

Buffy felt as if her entire body was being engulfed in a slow-burning flame, as Spike's hands and mouth took up a torturously slow, teasing exploration of her body. Her hands pulled uselessly against the chains that bound her as she longed to touch him, to hold him to her, to take him inside her…

But that particular pleasure, he withheld from her – for now.

She was utterly powerless to make her desire a reality. It was a frightening and arousing feeling to know that in this scenario, all the power was in his hands. She had willingly surrendered herself to his control, because she had known that anything less would have been to risk his life, and the lives of her family.

But she had not imagined that such surrender could bring her so much pleasure.

Or that she could even entertain such a thought of surrender, without provoking the rage of the Slayer inside her.

Her command to Spike, not to obey any commands that contradicted with her original command until he had claimed her as his own, seemed to have had an amazing effect on her demon. It seemed that the thing knew that there was no way she could work around the power of a claimant's command; she apparently preferred to save her energy for the upcoming battle that would follow the claim.

That thought gave Buffy a moment's trepidation, as her racing mind was tempted to go down the path of worry, to think about that battle, what was to come, how they were going to manage it…

No, she thought with an almost desperation. She did not want to think about this right now. She wanted to lose herself to the intensity and pleasure of her mate's touch.

Completely in tune with her desires, aware of her worries and her needs, Spike immediately took measures to distract her mind from its fears and apprehensions.

"Spike – now…I need you…I need you…" she gasped, breathless as his hand caressed a slow circle on her sensitive breast, his throbbing, swollen erection gliding slowly up and down against her center without quite entering her.

All other thoughts were immediately erased from her mind except those of Spike, his hands, his mouth, his body uniting with hers…making her his…

That thought was the most tantalizing of all.

To be eternally joined with someone who loved her as much as Spike clearly loved her – to belong to someone whom she could know would never abandon her, never betray her, always cherish her as his most highly prized treasure.

God, she wanted to be his!

"Please…please…do it now…"

"But, Buffy," Spike objected, eyes wide with false innocence. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp that was the only light in the room, his wide crystal blue eyes and full pouty lips gave his face an almost cherubic beauty.

Yeah. Right.

"I don't know when I'll get such an opportunity again," he went on with false sobriety, "a beautiful, naked Slayer – in chains and at my mercy – probably never gonna happen again," he shrugged matter-of-factly with a teasing little smirk, though his affection for her was clear in his eyes. "Best make the most of it, don't you think?"

The Slayer's eyes narrowed with frustrated anger.

"You're right," she ground out darkly, warningly, though the force of her tone was lost somewhat in the trembling breathlessness that accompanied his still-busy fingers as they slowly made their way down between her breasts, gliding across her navel on their way down to her nether regions. . "Never gonna happen – a-gain…gah!"

The dubious words, intended to be a threat – sort of a "take me now before I explode, if you ever want to touch me again once I get out of these chains" sort of thing – proved utterly useless in achieving her desired level of intimidation, as they ended suddenly in a gasp.

Spike's fingers had found what they had sought in their slow journey -- the needy core of her body that thrust futilely up toward the exploring digits that slipped past its walls, up toward his elusive member that still had barely touched her. It was the desperate gasps and moans at the contact that he did grant her that made her efforts at getting what she wanted – well – less than effective.

Spike was clearly enjoying his position of power, using it to tease her mercilessly, driving her ever nearer to the edge of the pleasure she sought, again and again, only to withdraw it before granting her the satisfaction she craved.

"See?" he smiled, his fingertips on her breast slowly swirling inward toward her nipple in a teasing way that only served to increase her desperation, as her back arched, trying to press her needy mound into a cool, smooth hand that had already moved on. "Like I said – this might never bloody happen again -- so I'd best take my time this time around, yeah?"

Yeah… the Slayer thought with dark frustration, he's never gonna get me in chains again after tonight…no way am I gonna let him do this to me a…aaauugghh…

The sound that escaped Buffy's throat as Spike's expert fingers dipped inside her and drove her desire steadily higher could only be described as a very un-Slayerish whimper. Her heedless struggles against the chains that prevented her from returning his touch as she longed to, grew more frantic, more desperate and intense, as a fresh wave of pleasure coursed through her body with every touch of his hand, each touch a paradox in itself -- thrilling, yet torturously frustrating in that it was not enough.

She needed more!

"Spike!" she gasped, her voice trembling with need. "Please…Spike…" as she writhed helplessly under him on the bed in an increasingly fevered, slowly building frenzy.

"Buffy," he whispered, lowering his mouth to slowly, tenderly kiss her throat, as his hands slid slowly from her waist down to her hips, one gliding inward to graze lightly over the surface of her center, raising his lips to whisper near her ear, "Love you, Buffy…"

As he spoke the tender words that she had already felt to be true – felt in every touch, saw in every look he gave her – but was not sure yet if she could truthfully return -- Buffy felt a wave of warmth and emotion course through her, mingling with the sweet fiery pleasure of his cool touch.

"Spike," she whispered breathlessly, an aching longing in her voice, as she poured out the feelings that she was sure of, "need you…want you…"

Her head was thrown back, and her eyes were closed, lost in the sensations he was creating in her – so she missed the brief flash of hurt that crossed Spike's face at her failure to return his words of devotion. What she had said was sweet, driving his own need higher at the knowledge that she wanted him, needed him, even if her feelings were merely a result of their blood bond.

It was more than he had ever expected that such a glorious creature could take him as her own, could desire him so much.

But he wanted so much more.

"Please," Buffy whimpered without thought for her pride, as the vampire withdrew his hand from her longing body once again. "Spike – please…"

Spike was fighting off a wave of sadness, even through the physical pleasure he was feeling, at the realization that she did not love him, as he had hoped. The Slayer, lost in the sensations filling her body, was oblivious to his distraction, writhing, desperate, struggling each moment to somehow increase the contact between them.

"Spike – Spike…" she whispered. "Need you – God, what you do to me! Spike!"

"Do you want to be mine, Buffy?" he asked her in a hushed, intense whisper near her ear that was yet tinged with his vulnerability and uncertainty.

He reminded himself that it had really only been a few days, as she had said, since they had been mortal enemies. It was too much to ask for her to be immediately in love with him. It was too much to expect – ever. He still held a strong hope that she would develop the love he already felt for her – but for now, he wanted to know beyond all doubt that she understood what she was agreeing to, and that she would not regret it later.

"You're sure, Buffy? Forever?" he pressed, reminding her of the power of the commitment she was about to make.

"Yes!" she gasped, and the sincere longing, the desire, were clear in her voice. "Forever – please, Spike – now! Please…I need you so much…"

He hovered over her for just a moment longer, his heart and mind processing the deep nameless emotions that lay beneath her feverish pleading, realizing that even if what she felt was not love – not yet – she really did want to be his. Slowly – gently – gazing at her with a wondering tenderness in his eyes that would have stolen her breath away, had her eyes been open – he lowered himself down into her, unable to take his eyes off of her as he did.

He watched her with an intensity, a sort of awe in his piercing gaze, drinking in every nuance of her expression as it shifted in response to the connection they were sharing. Her head fell back slightly, her lips parting in a shuddering gasp of shocked pleasure and fulfillment. Her body arched at the intense contact for just a moment, before relaxing, melting into him, as she pressed her body upward slightly, as if to get as close to him as she could possibly get.

He could feel her desire for him, through their bond, and it was infinitely reassuring. Maybe she did not love him – not yet – but there was no denying the feelings she did have for him, even if they could not quite be defined.

Maybe she didn't love him – but that would not stop him from worshipping her.

"Buffy," he whispered as his body began to move inside hers, drawing her along with him, upward toward heights of glorious pleasure. "Buffy, love – love you – need you – want you…only you…"

"Spike!" she cried out his name as his thrusts began to slowly intensify within her. "Spike! Need you! Yes…make me…yours, Spike…yours…" Her words all began to run together into a barely coherent string of random, half-uttered thoughts.

She was close – he could feel it not only through their bond, but in the tremulous fluttering he felt of her body surrounding him, drawing him ever nearer to the edge of his own release as well

"Can't wait – need you – please," Buffy's whispered chant filled his ears as he pulled her closer to him. "…please, Spike, now!"

The desperation, the raw need and desire in her hoarse, pleading voice drove him only that much nearer to his climax. Without changing the rhythm of their movements, he shifted smoothly into his game face, lowering his mouth to hover over her wildly pulsing throat.

"Mine," he whispered in a rough, passionate tone against her skin. "My Slayer – my Buffy – my mate. Forever -- mine…"

The Slayer nodded weakly, her breath coming fast and shallow as she gasped out softly but earnestly, "Yes! Yours – your mate – always yours, Spike, forever!"

The passionately intense tone of her voice, speaking words he had longed to hear for so long, was the remaining push, and the permission that he needed, and he sank his fangs into her throat with a possessive, primal growl.

"Mine!"

"Yours!" Buffy answered, accepting his claim.

The taste of her sweet, strong blood filling his mouth, the sound of the simple but powerful word from her lips, sent him soaring over the edge of ecstasy, as with one final thrust he brought Buffy to her climax as well, and they were swept away together in a wave of pleasure and connection more powerful than anything either of them had ever felt before.

As it passed, Spike held her close to him, sliding out and off of her to lie beside her on the bed, his hands clutching her to him almost desperately. Suddenly, the need to be close to her was almost overwhelming – as if he needed to prove to himself that it had really happened – she was really his.

Apparently, she felt the same way, leaning into him as much as she could, although she could not move her own arms to take him into them as she longed to. The way that her fingers flexed instinctively against her bonds told him that she craved the closeness, the intimacy, wanted to hold him to her every bit as much as he wanted to hold her.

He reached up to unlock the chains that bound her, without hesitation.

Their claim was equal now; whatever power it had given her over him before, his claim now gave him over her as well, making them equally matched; and besides, she was physically too weakened to harm him from the combination of the blood he had taken and the force of the climax she had just experienced. The Slayer demon would know that, and would not waste her energy attacking now, when she had to know that it would be useless.

Spike felt a tremendous sense of relief in knowing that he could simply lie here with his mate, for the moment, free of fear.

It was perfectly safe.

Her trembling arms fell to the bed heavily for just a moment, before she rolled weakly over onto her side, snuggling down and nestling into the cool, strong embrace of her vampire lover. They just lay there in each other's arms, clinging to each other as the sweet, euphoric haze of their union slowly drifted away, and them with it – into a deep, peaceful sleep.


	63. Chapter 63

A couple of hours had passed when Spike woke up, glancing around with some confusion at the unfamiliar room around him, before he remembered where they were. Buffy was still asleep, the single dim light they had left on beside the bed casting a soft glow across her serene, lovely features, and the golden glory that was her flawless body, carelessly half-covered by the sheets and entangled them both.

Mine.

The word echoed through his head with an intense sense of elation. She was his! She had consented to accept his claim, to be his for all of eternity! He could hardly believe that it was actually true – what he had longed for since the moment that she had claimed him.

Well – longer, if he was really honest with himself.

He lay there on his side, facing her, simply enjoying the beautiful vision that she was, lying there beside him – thinking. He was trying to discover if he felt any differently now, with his own claim in place – and decided after a few moments that the difference in his feelings was subtle, and no where near as great as he had expected it to be.

The sense of connection, of union, with Buffy, was stronger than it had ever been. He felt almost as if they were one and the same – as if he could feel her emotions, hear her thoughts – he almost thought that if he closed his eyes, he might be able to see her dreams.

His eyes fell on the twin puncture marks on her throat, already healing, but he knew, not without a permanent scar.

His mark.

His.

Bloody hell.

The overwhelming sensation of protective, possessive affection for the sleeping girl beside him stole over him unexpectedly – and he suddenly knew beyond all doubt that from this moment on, he would do whatever it took to protect this glorious vision that he could now call his own.

It was an odd sensation – feeling her begin to stir to wakefulness, before her body actually shifted on the bed, and her eyes fluttered open to meet his, wide and a bit disoriented, bright and blank with sleep.

"Spike?" she softly whispered his name, seeming a bit lost and very vulnerable in her half-awake state, as shining emerald eyes slowly came into focus on his.

And Spike melted. Just like that.

"Morning, love," he murmured in a low, husky voice, lowering his mouth to place a tender, almost reverent kiss in the crook of the arm that was casually cast out to her side, over his head. His eyes never left hers, as he raised his head and asked in a near-whisper, "How do you feel?"

Buffy was silent for a moment, breaking eye contact as she frowned slightly at the wall, pensive.

"Strange."

His smile faded a bit, a tentative question beginning in his eyes.

She looked back at him, a reassuring smile coming over her face as she raised the arm he had kissed to stroke the backs of her fingers lovingly down the side of his face and across his slightly parted lips.

"Good strange," she clarified softly, holding his gaze with shining eyes. "Very, very good strange."

The uncertainty in his eyes faded with the slow, adoring smile that came over his lips. "I love you, Buffy – Slayer -- my Slayer," he told her softly, raising his hand to take hers as it left his face, kissing her palm tenderly before lowering his head to rest it on her arm, kissing her again in the spot where he had kissed her before, as if he simply could not get enough of feeling her, tasting her.

He had already closed his eyes, not expecting to hear the words he longed to, not wanting to see the look on her face and have to face the fact that she did not love him – so he missed the soft, tender smile, tinged with a bit of sadness, that came over her face as she lowered her lips to his brow, trying to respond with her touch where she could not with words – not yet.

"Spike," she whispered softly, her voice hoarse with emotion as she raised her head, her free hand moving to gently stroke through his loose riot of blonde curls. She hesitated, unsure of exactly what to say, before choosing words that she could say with all surety, in a soft, tender voice.

"I'm so glad I'm yours."

Spike opened his eyes in surprise, staring up at her without lifting his head, and she was struck by the hopeful uncertainty in his eyes – blue depths that she could drown in, glimmering in the warm light, as he searched her gaze.

Just when it seemed that his emotions might get the better of him, he broke the connection that was becoming almost too intense, looking away as he slowly raised himself up on one arm, his eyes focused somewhere around her neck for a moment before he met her eyes again, his expression much more controlled – but still unable to hide his love for her.

"So – how do you feel, pet? Still in control?" he asked her quietly, deliberately changing the tone of the conversation.

"Completely," Buffy nodded, a small smile of contentment on her lips. "I guess now that it's done…now that she knows there's nothing she can do at the moment – she's biding her time until she gets stronger."

Spike sighed wearily, looking down for a moment. "Guess that means we'd better do this thing before she has the chance, right, love?"

Buffy nodded slowly. "Yeah." She frowned with concern. "How are you feeling? Strong enough to take her on? I know she was – pretty hard on you, before…"

Spike shrugged dismissively, not wanting her to worry about him – and in fact, his injuries from earlier were almost completely gone. "Feeling quite a bit better, love," he assured her honestly with a teasing grin. "That Slayer's blood is bloody potent stuff."

"So you're feeling strong enough to complete the dominance ritual, then," Buffy concluded with satisfaction and relief in her voice. "Now that she doesn't have the power to control you through your mark anymore."

The faint note of uncertainty to her last words caught his attention, and he looked back up at her pensively.

"Shall we test it out, then, love?" he suggested. "Just to put your mind at ease?"

Buffy nodded eagerly, a slight frown creasing her brow, biting her lower lip anxiously. "Just to be sure," she agreed with a slightly apologetic note to her voice. "I just don't want you to get hurt again…"

Spike sat up on the bed, and she followed suit, as he looked at her expectantly. "Right, then. Give me a command, love. Tell me to do something."

Buffy stared at him, leaning unconsciously nearer to him, marveling once again at the power of the connection they shared, doubly intense since the claim had become mutual. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes met his, and she realized suddenly how very close to each other they were sitting. The only command she could think of at the moment slipped from her mouth without hesitation.

"Kiss me."

Immediately Spike leaned forward, one hand rising to tangle in the long blonde hair at the back of her neck, pulling her in close as he covered her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly, tenderly, but with a fervency of desire that left her breathless and gasping.

He was breathless too, when he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, his hand still playing idly through her hair.

"Maybe," he suggested slowly, his lips turning up into a smile as the power of speech returned to him. "maybe you ought to order me to do something I wouldn't have done anyway."

An affectionate little laugh left the Slayer's lips, as she nodded slowly against his brow before pulling away to meet his eyes. "Right," she agreed softly. "Um…like what?"

"You're asking me what order you should give me?" Spike grinned. "Funny, love, but I can't think of a single bloody thing at the moment that I wouldn't wanna do anyway…"

Buffy gave his bare thigh beside her a light slap, one eyebrow raised as she gave him a mildly reproachful look.

Then, in a moment, her expression changed, as she thought of what she wanted to tell him to do.

"Hit me in the face as hard as you can," she ordered quietly, seriously.

Spike's eyes widened in surprise and alarm, his smile fading away. He could feel that she was trying to use the force of the claim to make him do it – trying her best to test the bond – but this time, it was much easier to resist.

"No," he replied calmly, lying back on the bed with his hand behind his head in a cockily casual way, his smile returning with the realization that their plan had worked.

Buffy smiled as she lay down beside him, her face inches from his, her hand reaching to tenderly caress his cheek. "It worked," she whispered.

Spike's smile never faded, but there was a dark note of disapproval in his voice as he asked her, "Why would you ask me to hit you as hard as I could? What if it hadn't worked? You'd be bloody well unconscious."

"If it hadn't worked – then it'd be better if I was unconscious," Buffy pointed out, and he could see the concern, the relief in her eyes – and suddenly realized just how hard it had been for her, knowing that at any moment she could completely lose control of her own body, and it could be used as a weapon against him.

It still could be, if they were not careful – but she would not be able to control his mind anymore, and he would be free to defend himself, as he was, at the moment, in better physical condition than she was. The Slayer demon could still take over her body -- but she could no longer control his mind.

And very soon -- she would be able to do neither.

Spike hated even the thought of hurting her, but he knew that very soon, he was going to have to. It was the only way.

He still hadn't quite worked out how he was going to manage it, though.

"So," he said in a tone that effectively changed the subject, sitting up a little but not quite meeting her eyes. "you want to call your Mum and sis? Have 'em come over here and work out how we're going to do this dominance ritual?"

Buffy sighed, a slight pout coming over her lips. "I guess we should. Don't want to. 'M sleepy."

"Me, too, love," he replied wearily. "We could wait until morning if you like. Do you feel like we'll be safe 'til then?"

Buffy paused for a moment, considering. "No sign of a struggle so far. I know we've got a couple of hours before she'll come out willingly. But – maybe we should go ahead and do this while I'm still physically weaker than you – you know?"

Spike nodded reluctantly. He was tired, too. "I suppose you're right. But – we should have your sis close at hand just in case – don't you think?"

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding slowly as she thought it through. "Just to be on the safe side." She glanced around the room wearily. "I guess we'd best get things cleaned up in here. Personally, I wanna take a shower before engaging in any more rituals of the world-saveage variety."

"Me, too, pet," Spike agreed, sitting up slowly and turning to get up off the bed. "Don't really fancy seeing your Mum while drenched in essence of the-best-shag-I-ever-had."

Buffy frowned in distaste, shooting him a dubious look as she said, "I don't think Mom's sense of smell is that good, and -- eww, Spike?"

"No – but mine is – and that's just too bloody disturbing," he reminded her, a look of alarm in his eyes as he shook his head quickly to clear the image from his head.

It was bad enough that Joyce even knew what they had spent the last few hours doing.

"So – how's this for a plan?" Buffy offered, standing up off the bed. "I'll jump in the shower. You run down to the front desk and get some clean sheets. Then, you take your shower while I make the bed and call Mom and Dawnie. Okay?"

"Sounds good, pet," Spike replied, relief in his voice. "I'm not overly eager to talk to your Mum at the moment. I'll leave her questions to you, thanks ever so."

Buffy laughed softly as she walked around the bed to where he was still sitting on the edge of it. Judging by her confident semi-swagger as she approached him, her eyes focused on his and a sly half-smile on her lips – her current state of nudity did not bother her in the least.

And that was just bloody hot.

She did not stop until she was standing between his parted legs, smiling tenderly into his eyes, as she placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned in to kiss him gently.

He closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss – just as she pulled away, a playful smirk on her lips, and turned and headed to the bathroom. Spike considered following her, but opted not to at the moment. Her seductive actions were not so much an attempt at – well, seduction – as they were a reminder of what was theirs to share now, whenever they wanted.

It was unspoken, but understood between them – there would be plenty of time for more of what they had shared tonight later on.

Right now – they had a demon to defeat.

Spike walked down to the front desk, considering for a moment outside Dawn's and Joyce's door. The lights were off, he could tell through the edges of the thick curtains over the window – but he knew they would be awake. He thought about knocking on the door, just to let them know that everything was all right – but then decided against it.

He really did not want to face Joyce right now.

By the time he returned to the room, the fragrant steam from the shower had drifted into the rest of the room, tantalizing his senses with the familiar scent of Buffy's shampoo, as he carefully made up the bed.

He knew that Buffy had intended to do it herself, but he also knew that she was tired, and wanted to do something for her, even if it was small.

After all, she had just given him the sweetest gift he could imagine.

When she emerged from the small, steamy bathroom a few minutes later, her skin pink and glistening with droplets of water above and below the fresh white towel that covered all her most important bits, the bed was made, and Spike was seated in one of the chairs to the side of the beds, in order to keep from soiling the freshly made bed with the sweat and other bodily fluids that still coated his body.

Buffy smiled warmly as she reached him, leaning down to pull him into another slow, lingering kiss, before pulling away to meet his eyes. Spike's hands found her waist and pulled her back toward him, not willing to end the contact. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her right then.

Buffy persistently evaded his embrace, with an apologetic smile. "I'm gonna need another shower if you don't stop," she warned him.

"You can share mine," he offered in a low murmur against her throat, as he pulled her down for another kiss.

Buffy giggled at the teasing, pleasurable touch, but pulled back again. "We have all the time in the world, Spike," she reminded him softly, smiling into his eyes. "After we send this thing back where it came from."

Finally, Spike nodded, acknowledging that she was right.

After all – it would be better to wait until they could enjoy each other without the threat of her alter ego's return.

Buffy walked over to the bed and sat down wearily with her back to the headboard, giving him a meaningful smile and saying sincerely, "Thank you," as she reached for her cell phone.

Spike waved away her thanks as he rose and headed for the bathroom.

The sooner he was done with his shower – the sooner he could be at her side again.

Buffy watched as her vampire stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, waiting until she heard the water start running to dial her mother's number, her eyes still focused on the bathroom door as she waited through – well – only half a ring.

"Hello?" Dawn gasped breathlessly into the phone. "Spike?"

"It's Buffy," her sister corrected dryly. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Ha ha," Dawn shot back sarcastically without hesitation, but her tone was mild. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," Buffy assured her. "We did the whole matey, bondy thing, and now the whole mind control thing is gone. Spike is free to fight the Slayer demon."

"Great!" Dawn's voice was exultant. "So – you want us to head on over there right now? You wanna do it tonight?"

"Well – actually, I'm pretty tired – we both are," Buffy explained, yawning for emphasis. "I mean – not to be too specific – but – I don't think we're up to any more wrestling tonight. We were thinking we'd just sleep and do it in the morning."

"Buffy -- ew!" Dawn groaned, and Buffy could almost see her rolling her eyes. "But – are you sure it's safe to wait?"

"I think so," Buffy replied with a little shrug. "I mean, I'm feeling pretty weak anyway, and she hasn't tried to come out in a while – and anyway, he's gonna chain me to the bed for good measure."

"Buffy…" Dawn said slowly, "…you're not really planning on sleeping – are you?"

"Whatever would give you that idea?" Buffy's voice was the very sound of innocence, but she allowed a little giggle to follow the words.

Dawn was silent for a moment before she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice, "Buffy – are you sure you're okay?"

"Positive, Dawnie."

"Let me talk to Spike."

"He's in the shower."

"I don't believe you. I'm coming over there."

"Okay, okay," Buffy muttered, rising from the bed with an exasperated sigh. "He is in the shower – and I'm about to be too, in a minute – but I'll put him on the phone, just to satisfy your paranoia."

"I just don't want anything bad to happen…" Dawn's voice was smaller, uncertain.

Buffy's tone softened as she added, "I know, Dawnie – but I promise, everything's okay."

Buffy walked into the bathroom, adding as an afterthought, "If my phone gets damaged from all this steam, you're buying me a new one."

"Buffy?" Spike sounded a bit puzzled, as he peeked around the shower curtain, a pleased smile on his face. "Change your mind?"

She nodded, smiling in mingled affection and amusement, as she held the phone up to his ear, running her free hand gently down his dripping wet face.

"Tell my sister that she doesn't need to come over just yet because you're about to spend the whole night screwing me senseless, and we'll call her in the morning," she instructed firmly, a little smirk forming on her face, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Spike's expression was surprised, questioning – but then melted into a smile to match hers, as he echoed obediently, "You don't need to come over just yet because I'm about to spend the whole night shagging your sis senseless, and we'll call you in the morning."

Buffy immediately put the phone back to her ear, adding shortly, "Keep Mom away 'til morning, 'k?"

Dawn sighed dramatically. "Fine. Whatever. Just – use those chains."

Buffy's smile widened with some secret amusement as she replied, "Don't worry. We will."

She closed the phone, dropping it carelessly on the counter, as she gestured with her hand for Spike to resume his shower. "Give me a second," she said in a soft, husky voice.

Spike smiled, a light of anticipation in his eyes as he turned back around with his back to her, allowing the hot water to wash over his weary body.

Buffy slid the towel off and climbed into the shower behind her mate, sidling up close behind him as she ran her hands slowly up his chest. He leaned back into her embrace, with a soft purring hum of pleasure at her touch.

"Change your mind?" he murmured, his head resting on her shoulder behind him. "Decide you weren't quite through playing?"

"You might say that," she replied coyly with a slight nod, one hand rising to gently push his head up off her shoulder, turning slightly so that he was facing the shower wall, as her fingers slowly massaged through his soaking wet hair, her other hand sliding down to fist around his erect member and tug gently down.

He gasped softly, leaning his head back into her hand, relishing the combination of sensations, of her hand massaging through his hair, and her other hand driving his desire higher -- not even noticing when her grip on both became just slightly tighter.

Not noticing the subtle shift in her voice.

"No," she murmured, a secretive smirk crossing her lips. "I'm nowhere near through playing, Baby…"

Something was off, he realized suddenly, frowning slightly. Buffy never called him…

His eyes shot open, and he moved to pull away – too late.

Quick as a flash, before he could react, she had slammed his head forward by her grip on his hair, cracking it hard against the shower wall.

Not so weak after all, he realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was the last thought that crossed his mind before his entire world went tumbling into a swirling confusion of mingled colors and darkness – and everything went black.


	64. Chapter 64

Spike's first conscious thought upon waking several hours later was that his head hurt.

Bad.

But when he went to press a hand to his forehead, in an attempt to ease the dull throbbing ache echoing through his head – he immediately realized that his headache was the least of his problems. He couldn't move his arms – or his legs, either for that matter.

At all.

Apparently, Buffy's demon had made good on her promise to Dawn to make use of the chains – just not in the way that Dawn had intended.

Maybe the severe pounding behind his skull drowned out all other sound, or maybe the Slayer had actually left him here alone for some reason -- but he suddenly became aware that he could hear no sound in the room except for his own hoarse, reflexive breathing –unnecessary, nothing more than a reaction to the frightening situation he had found himself in.

He could not see her – but that was most likely because -- due to the severe pain in his head -- he had yet to open his eyes since waking.

Maybe it's about time you did, mate, he told himself grimly, though he was almost afraid of what he would see. After the tenderness and intimacy of the night he had just shared with Buffy, the thought of facing the vicious, abusive creature that wore her face at will was more than terrifying.

It was heart-breaking.

Suddenly, a disturbing, painful thought occurred to him -- just when during the course of the evening had the Slayer taken over?

Was it possible that while he had been holding Buffy gently in his arms, while he had been whispering tender endearments and cherishing the new bond between them – that all the while the evil creature that had ambushed him in the bathroom had been in control already – silently mocking him as she led him into a false sense of security with her sweet words and tender caresses?

No…it can't be true…no… his mind insisted, almost frantically.

He couldn't bear it if it were true.

It took an extreme force of his will to make himself open his eyes and face – he had no idea what. But against the shooting pain in his head, against his own rising fears, he finally managed to do it. He raised his head as much as he could, glancing anxiously around at what he could see of the room.

There was no sign of Buffy – or the Slayer – or whoever she happened to be at the moment.

A look to the side revealed that her cell phone was still on the nightstand, tantalizingly near, almost within his reach – if only he could have reached for it. His only link to safety, to rescue – and he could not get to it.

Not that he could have used it anyway, even if it had been lying on the pillow beside his head with the number already dialed. The Slayer had apparently taken every precaution before leaving the room. From the feel of the fabric in his mouth and the leather on his face, he guessed that she had used a motel standard issue washcloth and a leather belt to create a very effective gag.

He tried the chains again, frantically; they did not give. His heart sank as he cursed his own insistence on high quality, that had caused him to purchase the strongest possible chains he could find for "emergency use".

Should have known it'd be just your bloody luck you'd end up the one in the chains!

Just then, an unexpected sound took him by surprise. Spike looked up at the door as he heard the click of the lock releasing, in a mixture of hope and apprehension.

Dawn had a key to the room. Maybe…

"Well, look who's awake!" The Slayer's voice was frighteningly cheerful as she closed the door carefully behind her, tossing a plastic shopping bag down on the table as she sauntered toward the bed.

He wondered where she had gone, how she had managed to find a store that was open at this hour in the middle of nowhere like this. Then, he vaguely remembered the large, brightly lit store that he had hardly noticed when they were waiting to go to the rooms, what with all the bloody drama in the car.

Soddin' bloody Wal-mart, he thought with no small resentment. They're bleedin' everywhere.

He noticed vaguely that she had taken the time to choose a cute little black halter top and a pair of black leather pants from the limited wardrobe Buffy had brought with her, before crossing the street to the store.

Spike suddenly realized with alarm that he had no such benefit of coverage. She had apparently moved him directly from the shower to the freshly made bed, where she had chained him to the four corners, on top of the bedspread – utterly exposed to whatever she was planning to do to him.

He steeled himself not to flinch away as she reached him, unfastening the belt she had wrapped around his mouth and pulling away the rag she had used to gag him.

"How you feeling, Baby?" she asked with false sympathy, running her hand lightly down his cheek and tipping his chin up toward her.

With an effort he forced himself to meet her eyes – and was left with no doubt as to the fact that he was no longer dealing with his mate. The cruel, triumphant smile on her face in no way resembled the tenderness in Buffy's eyes the night before.

Which was comforting, in a way – indicating that the words and affection they had shared had been entirely real.

Maybe – just maybe – he could still reach Buffy…

"Buffy," he said in a quiet, clear, urgent tone, "Buffy, love – you have to fight…"

"I've got a better idea," she interrupted with a disarming smile, removing her hand from his face – just to lash out with a cruel backhand blow that took his breath with its unexpected strength. She leaned in close to finish, "Why don't you shut up?"

The blow had knocked his head to the side, but he slowly turned back to face her, hatred in his eyes as he immediately defied her command in a voice low and full of challenge.

"I could have Dawn here in two bloody seconds."

"No you couldn't. Or you already would," the Slayer countered his bluff without hesitation, her smile never fading as she sat down on the side of the bed, leaning comfortably against his side as she met his gaze, her blazing eyes the only indication of her anger at his defiance.

He tried to pull away from the light pressure of her body, pressed casually against him, but really could not move at all. She smiled at his useless efforts, deliberately increasing his discomfort by leaning across him, bracing her hand on the bed on the other side of his body – calmly closing him in.

Fighting off panic, he shot back in an angry, trembling voice, "I could have someone here! They'd…"

"Be dead," she finished for him with a smug smirk, her voice chillingly soft. "Two very 'bloody seconds' later."

The cold certainty in her voice sent a sense of dread through him. This conscienceless creature did not care who she hurt – and she had all the power of the Slayer at her hand.

She was the Slayer's bloody power.

He tensed reflexively, drawn from his thoughts, as her hand beside him shifted, her arm raised to rest across his chest, as she just leaned on him comfortably, as if she actually was the woman she appeared to be – his mate – her free hand trailing teasingly up his side.

"And then," she went on in a deceptively gentle tone that was all the more terrifying, as her hand slid from his side across his chest to cup his cheek.

He jerked away, but she caught his chin and yanked his head around, forcing him to face her. Her expression was suddenly harder, her eyes narrowed in anger as she finished, "I'd make sure you never open that mouth of yours again."

She leaned in closer, a cruel smile on her face at his wince of pain as her elbow dug into his ribcage. She brought her mouth a mere inch from his ear to whisper suggestively, "Unless I want you to…"

In an instinctive reaction to her words, Spike tried again to pull away, though her grip would not allow it. The thought of touching her made him physically ill. It may have been Buffy's body, but the thing that was threatening him, touching him so intimately and invasively, was definitely not his mate.

His resistance angered the Slayer, and her expression darkened as her hand suddenly gripped his throat, cutting off his breath completely. He gasped uselessly in a reflexive reaction of panic, as she dug her thumb into his windpipe with a vicious smirk at the expression of pain on his face.

But he could not make a sound.

Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered softly, "You can't scream if you can't breathe – can you, Baby?"

Spike heard the underlying threat clearly in her eyes, felt it in her hard touch, just short of crushing his windpipe completely – and stopped struggling, going still under her hand.

He wanted to at least hold on to the option of crying out later, when it might actually do him some good.

When he stopped struggling, Buffy's hand eased its grip, allowing him to draw a much-desired, if not needed, breath.

"You gonna chill out now, Sweetie?" she asked him in a patronizingly gentle voice, nodding leadingly as she met his panicked gaze with eyes that were wide and falsely sympathetic, but glittering with cruel amusement.

He nodded, knowing that he had no other choice, really, breathing deeply in an attempt to steady himself after her frightening assault.

"There we go," she said soothingly, running the backs of her fingers gently down his cheek.

It took every ounce of willpower he had – but he did not pull away.

The Slayer was pleased. "That's it," she nodded her approval with a smile. "Calm donw, Baby. After all," she smirked with a little shrug, "you'd better get used to it. I'll be touching you when and where I want to for the rest of your miserable existence."

"You don't think Buffy's gonna just bloody give up, do you?" he asked incredulously, deliberately avoiding thinking about the sickening implications of her words. "You know at best you're gonna spend the rest of your mortal life fighting her back. And she fights hard – I should know."

The dark, secretive little laugh that rose in her throat was a bit disconcerting, to say the least.

"She doesn't seem to be fighting very hard right now," she informed him with a taunting smirk, as she slowly turned, climbing onto the bed, until she was on her knees, straddling his waist. "Hmm…maybe she's just not got that much to fight for – now that she's seen all you have to offer...you think?"

He could not suppress a slight flinch at the cruel words, but he steeled himself to endure whatever she was going to do, his entire body taut and trembling with apprehension as she slowly, sensuously ran her hands over his chest and stomach with obvious appreciation.

"I don't have to worry about Buffy," she sneered, idly raking her nails up his sides a bit harder than would have been pleasurable -- would have been…had she been Buffy. "You see," she went on calmly, "that's where you're all confused. I don't have to do anything to Buffy. Keep Buffy away from the little girl, and she'll lose all on her own. Just – fade away."

As if that thought wasn't ghastly enough for Spike, she went on in a chillingly calm, matter-of-fact voice.

"So you see, it's simple really – what I need to do. I have to kill the little girl."

Spike's eyes widened in shock and horror at her words, though he had already known that Dawn's death was on the Slayer's agenda.

She smiled at his reaction as she leaned back slightly, her hands continuing their casual violation of his body, as she explained her terrifying plan.

"See – the thing is – I should be free already. The stupid little witch had no idea what she was messing with when she did that spell that loosed me – with her own little twist," she smirked.

Spike was startled by those words, but before he could ask her about them, she had gone on already.

"The spell the way she did it should have set me free completely into this body, and strong enough that there's no way she could defeat me. She should have been immediately – well – destroyed, basically. Wiped out. But – somehow it didn't work that way. She's – stronger than she should be…"

"She's stronger than you thought, that's for sure," Spike replied in a voice that trembled with powerful emotions. "She…"

"She's strong because of me, you fool!" the Slayer spat out the words viciously, furiously digging her nails into his side in a punishing grip that drew a soft, agonized moan from his lips.

Immediately, pitilessly, she struck him in the face with her fist, before grabbing his hair and leaning down into his face to hiss with a cold, cruel smile, "I thought we covered this, Baby…you keep your mouth shut…is that too hard for you, Sweetie, 'cause I can go over it again if you like? Or I could help you keep it shut? Want me to do that?"

The menace in her voice made him flinch in spite of himself, and he shook his head, his eyes closed, as he swallowed hard and tried to regain control from the searing pain that had stolen it from him. Momentarily appeased by his submission, the Slayer was calmer when she released his hair and sat back again.

"It's the girl…"

Spike struggled to make himself focus, aware that what she was saying was vitally important to their situation.

"…she wasn't supposed to exist…she doesn't, you know. Well," she amended with a frown, "she didn't…she wasn't supposed to be here…"

Spike frowned, confused; she wasn't making any sense.

"…she's only here because of magic," she clarified in an overly patient voice, rolling her eyes as if he was a very slow child. "Someone else had already done magics that messed with the witch's spell. Magics – to create her…"

Spike's eyes widened in disbelief, and he shook his head slightly. It couldn't be true – she was out of her mind, had to be – didn't she?

"Yes, stupid," the Slayer snapped, contradicting his silent denial of her words. "It's true. She's not really even – a person. Well, not like other people are. She wasn't – born, didn't grow up, she was just -- created as she is – it's weird…she's like…an extension of Buffy."

She looked down at him, her expression speculative, as she went on, as if just figuring it out herself, "That's why when they get together, they can beat me – because it's like – like Dawn and Buffy are the same person almost, only – doubly strong…" She shook her head slowly for a moment, before suddenly shaking it quickly as if to clear it, concluding in a lighter tone.

"Like two against one -- totally unfair…but anyway – it's not gonna matter soon…" Her smile was smug and certain as she leaned down over him, staring into his eyes with a cruel challenge in her own, as if daring him to contradict her.

Spike never had been able to resist a dare.

He stared into her eyes, his own narrowed and blazing with defiant anger, his voice soft but certain as he replied

"If you think for one bloody second that I would let you hurt her, while I'm still living to try to stop you, you're out of your soddin' mind, you insane, psychotic bitch!" he declared. "I'll never let you hurt her…" He paused, his own challenging smile coming over his face as he went on, "…and I don't know if you know much about mating claims, pet, but that body you're in might not hold up too well if you tried to kill me..."

The fury was obvious in her fierce emerald eyes as she glared down at him. "Oh, I don't know," she smirked. "I've been doing a lot of damage…" As she spoke, she grabbed his hair and viciously slammed his head back hard against the headboard, deliberately reawakening the pain from his earlier head wound.

He bit back a moan, remembering her reaction last time, just closing his eyes and fighting to stay conscious.

"…and I feel fine," she informed him with a falsely sweet smile and a little shrug. "And besides," she continued, leaning down over him and pushing his head back with one hand.

He tensed, knowing what she intended and hating it, but powerless to stop her as she slowly lowered her lips to his throat, just above her mark, to press a deceptively tender kiss to his cool skin, kissing a soft line along his throat, edging her lips just to the edge of the mark before drawing back to finish her words, with a cruel, secretive glint in her eyes that sent a shudder down his spine.

"…who said anything about killing you?"

At precisely that moment, they were both startled out of the intensity of the confrontation – by the ringing of Buffy's cell phone on the night stand. Before she snatched it up, Spike's keen eyes noted with mingled fear and hope who the caller was.

The screen read "Mom's Cell".

It was Dawn.


	65. Chapter 65

Buffy hesitated for a moment, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not she should answer the phone. Spike could not help but relish the anxious look in her eyes as she stared at the flashing cell phone in her hand.

"Don't answer it – and Dawn'll be in here in seconds," he reminded her, a taunting note to his calm, clear voice. "Doesn't look like you've got much of a choice now, does it?"

A vindictive anger in her taut smile, the Slayer suddenly gripped his throat in her free hand, pressing him down against the mattress and cutting off his breath – silencing him completely. He instinctively struggled against her grip, desperate for breath, knowing that he may only have one chance to alert Dawn to the fact that something was wrong – but it was no use.

At some point during the last few hours, apparently, Buffy's Slayer blood had regenerated itself enough to bring her back to her full strength, and between the brutal blows he had taken to the head and the chains that bound him to the bed and prevented him from gaining any leverage to pull away – it was hopeless.

There was no way that he was going to be able to break her grip.

She held him effortlessly by the throat, driving her knee into his side viciously. His back arched slightly in pain, and his mouth opened in a completely silent cry – and she smiled coldly.

Only once she was satisfied that he would not be able to make a sound to alert Dawn of the danger, Buffy flipped open the phone with her free hand, raising it to her ear. She took a moment to prepare herself before speaking into the phone in a slightly breathless voice, flawlessly tinged with just the right notes of annoyance and distraction.

"Yes?" she nearly gasped into the phone.

"Buffy? Are you okay?" Dawn's voice was small, hesitant.

"Well – yeah," she replied flatly with a heavy sigh, gradually regulating her breathing. "I was anyway – more than okay, actually. But then my cell phone rang…" she trailed off pointedly.

Spike's heart sank as he realized that she sounded very convincing – as if she had really just been engaged in some hot and heavy action with her mate, and was quite irritated at being pulled away from it, but otherwise okay.

If he could not somehow get Dawn's attention, Buffy would be able to pull it off; she would hang up and the girl would be none the wiser. He tried again to break the Slayer's hold on his throat, but she only slammed him back down on the mattress, at the same moment jabbing her knee into his ribcage harder, eliciting another disappointingly silent cry from his lips.

"I'm sorry, Buffy – I just – are you sure about this whole waiting until morning thing? I mean – what if the Slayer takes over again?" Dawn protested, but a bit hesitantly.

Spike's acute hearing could clearly pick up her every word, as well as her tone – and it was clear that the girl was more than a little self-conscious about interrupting what was supposedly an intimate, romantic night between her sister and himself. Obviously something had made her wonder if everything was all right, but she was not sure enough of her own instincts to just go with them without checking it out first.

Unfortunately.

Come on, Bit… he thought desperately, wishing that for just a moment, he might share the same mental bond with Dawn that he did with Buffy. Hear something in her voice…something not right…please…don't believe her…

"Dawnie, I promise everything's okay," Buffy was easily assuring her little sister. "I'm much stronger than she is right now…she's not even trying to surface, like I said – we're all good. Better than good, actually – if I could just get off this phone…" Her pointed tone was light, teasing, but still expectant, as if she assumed that her sister would accept her words and let it drop at that point.

There was a moment's silence, before Dawn spoke again, her voice quiet but firm. "Buffy, I want to talk to Spike."

"Dawn – this is silly. I'm me, okay?" Buffy laughed easily, very naturally and convincingly.

Spike waited, his mind racing, desperately hoping that Dawn would not relent.

"I never said you weren't," the younger Summers sister countered immediately, her voice equally calm. "Let me talk to Spike."

Buffy was silent for a moment – and Spike knew that she was debating over what she should do. Then, an odd smile came over her lips. "Fine," she sighed wearily. "Just a second, Dawn…hold on…"

Spike watched, wondering what she had in mind as she set the phone down on the night stand for a moment, the pressure she was exerting on his throat never letting up as she leaned down into his face with a menacing smile. As she did, she reached into her jeans pocket to pull something out.

His eyes widened at the sight of the compact black pistol that she brought up to hold near his face. He looked between it and her cool smirk with a question in his eyes.

Well. You bloody well didn't pick that up at Wally World, he commented dryly in her head.

She smiled, shaking her head slightly in acknowledgment of the truth of his statement. No – just a stroke of luck. You know it's not safe for a girl to go walking at night, dressed like this? Her smile faded slightly, her expression hardening as she added, Or rather – it wasn't very safe for the guy who tried mugging me on my way back across the street. But hey – I got this cute little toy out of the bargain, didn't I?

Spike wondered briefly what she had done to the unfortunate mugger who had had the bad luck to attack a Slayer – wondered what his Buffy would think, feel, about it when she remembered what the Slayer had done in her body. He shook his head slightly, refocusing on the situation at hand.

With an effort he brought a derisive little smirk to his lips, glancing at the gun in her hand and back into her eyes, laughter in his own.

That supposed to scare me, love? I think you forgot someth--

His words broke off when she suddenly sat up slightly, moving the gun and aiming it smoothly behind her – directly at the front door of the motel room. She smiled down at him with cruel triumph, her eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Go ahead, she said softly in his head, mockery in her voice. Say something to bring Dawnie running…I'd love to see her come through that door!

Spike felt his stomach drop at the words, the realization of the true threat of the weapon in her hand.

No – no, Buffy…don't do that…

She leaned down close to him again, her lips close to his ear, as she whispered softly, just a breath, but clearly audible to his vampire senses, "If you say anything to make her come here – it'll be just like you killed her, Spike. She'll die – and it will be your fault."

He shook his head slightly, his eyes closed against the painful images her words brought to mind, of the terrible thing that could be in the next few minutes – if he was not very very careful. He knew that she was right; if Dawn got even the first inkling that he was in danger, that Buffy was hurting him – she would come running, heedless of her own safety.

And the Slayer would kill her.

You gonna tell her what's going on?

No, he assured her, shaking his head as she slowly eased her grip on his throat.

Gonna try anything stupid, Baby?

No…no, Buffy, please…please don't hurt her…

That's up to you, Sweetie, Buffy reminded him with a deceptively gentle caress down his cheek, as she removed her hand from his throat, before reaching for the phone on the bedside table.

The whole mental exchange had taken place in a matter of seconds – no where near enough time for Dawn to think that something was wrong.

Fortunately, he thought, with no small irony, as Buffy pressed the phone to his ear, her other hand resting on his forehead, holding his head back so that every word, every nuance of his voice and expression would be completely open to her observance.

He fought with everything in him the impulse to pull away from her touch, steadying himself to do what he had to do. He looked up at the Slayer's face; she was looking down at him with a calm, if false, smile, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

Don't let us down, Baby, she warned him in a light, teasing tone that was all the more chilling for its inappropriateness – and for the fact that he knew that by "us" she meant herself – and Dawn.

"Hey, Bit," he spoke into the phone in a slightly raspy voice that he hoped she would interpret as hoarse and tired due to a session of wearing himself out with her sister, rather than the choke hold Buffy had just kept him in for the past few minutes, or the perilous situation he was in.

"Spike?" Dawn's voice sounded anxious and uncertain. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Bit," he said in a quiet, reassuring voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Gee, I don't know," Dawn's voice became sarcastic and a bit annoyed, and he could picture her caustic shrug and the roll of her eyes as she went on, "Maybe because my sister's suffering from a case of supernatural split personality disorder at the moment and her other personality wants to kill you?"

"No, she's okay, pet," he assured her calmly. "She's in control – don't worry…"

"Why aren't you guys using the chains?" Dawn demanded in an accusing tone. "Buffy said you were gonna use the chains!"

"We will, pet, when we – um – get ready to go to sleep," he told her, forcing a slightly embarrassed little chuckle. "For the moment, they're not really necessary. Please, Bit, just – just don't worry, yeah? Everything's fine."

Dawn was silent for a long moment. "Spike – are you sure? Cause I could come over there…"

"No, Bit," he cut her off, wincing when his voice came out a bit sharper than he had intended it to, and the Slayer's expression hardened slightly, her hand on his head pressing his head back in a possessive, threatening gesture. "No – you don't need to do that, everything's fine, I promise. I could – chain her up now if you'd rather," he suggested, putting a playful note into his voice that he hoped was convincing.

"Spike – ew!" Dawn exclaimed, obviously surprised by his suggestive words. "Okay, TMI much? All right, I believe you – just – just please do use those chains, Spike…I just – I don't know why I'm so worried, I just – don't want you to get hurt…"

"I know, pet – and I appreciate it, I really do," he said, the warmth and affection in his voice completely genuine. "You just – don't need to worry so much. The mating claim is in place – she can't control me anymore – everything is going to be fine, I promise…"

"Okay," Dawn conceded with a sigh. "Okay, Spike…just…call me if you need me, okay?"

"I will," he assured her. "Good night – all right?"

"Good night." Her tone was still hesitant, uncertain, just before the faint click of her cell phone being hung up.

Spike wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

He knew Dawn well enough to know that he had not completely convinced her. She was trying to accept what he had said, but she still had her doubts. She would not be coming to the room – not yet, anyway.

His mind raced with the possible scenarios that could take place at this point. If he knew Dawn at all, she would eventually either call again, or come to the room, in spite of his and Buffy's reassurances. She cared too much to simply let it go at that – which could turn out to be either his salvation – or both of their doom.

The Slayer wanted to kill Dawn – and yet, she did not want her to come to the room – not yet, anyway. She knew she could not kill her as easily as it would seem, because every time they came into physical contact, Dawn was able to easily overcome her. She would want to be very well prepared before she faced Dawn again.

Which meant that it all came down to one thing – the element of surprise.

Spike suddenly made it his goal to get the gun out of Buffy's hand, and her so thoroughly distracted that she would not be able to react quickly, whenever Dawn did let her quite accurate misgivings get the better of her and returned to their motel room to check on them.

"Good job, Baby." Buffy's voice sounded mildly surprised, as if she had expected him to fail her, as she closed the phone and set it down on the night table, turning around to look at him with a chilling, speculative smile. "Didn't think you'd be able to pull it off."

"Yeah, well – I aim to please, pet," he muttered sarcastically, jerking instinctively away from her hand as she ran it slowly down his face.

Her mood shifted in an instant at his reaction of disgust to her touch, and he could feel the dark, ugly rage rising up in her, even before the breathtaking slap she delivered across his face. When the stars began to fade from his vision, she was leaning down over him, her body pressed nearer to him as her hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head back, as she leaned in to whisper near his ear.

"Really? Doesn't seem that way, Spike… 'cause you haven't pleased me – not yet…" she informed him with a menacingly suggestive note in her voice, her free hand trailing down his side, coming to rest on his hip, edging slowly inward.

He tensed under her invasive touch, his breath quickening as he forced himself not to pull away, no matter how much the idea of this thing in Buffy's body touching him, utterly repulsed and horrified him.

"You really wanna please me, Baby?" she murmured seductively in his ear, her lips drifting down to leave a line of warm, soft kisses up from his throat to his jaw. "Do you?"

"What's this all about anyway?" he asked breathlessly, shifting uncomfortably under her slight weight, edging away from her slowly exploring hand, trying to distract her – from Dawn and her possible entrance at any time, but also from her current pursuits. "Woulda thought you'd have just left me here like this and gone after Dawn while she wasn't expectin' it…woulda made a bit more sense, don't you think?"

His own words horrified him, but he knew that she wouldn't actually do it – or she would have already. Besides – he knew that this would work.

Evil masterminds could never resist the chance to gloat about their plans.

"You might think so, huh?" she smirked, rising up off of him. Apparently, his ruse had worked, for the moment. "The thing is – I can't kill Dawn." She paused, giving a little half-shrug. "I do need her dead. But I can't kill her. Too risky. Can't risk touching her, because there's always the chance that she'll beat me before I can get it finished."

She was silent for a moment, and he gave her a questioning look, wondering where she was going with this. When she spoke again, her soft, confident words sent a chill of fear down his spine.

"That's why you're going to do it for me."


	66. Chapter 66

Dawn couldn't sleep.

She knew it was her own fault, for being so freakin' paranoid and having a crazy, wild imagination that simply couldn't leave well enough alone and just accept the fact that her sister was having wild monkey sex with her vampire lover and just wanted a bit of privacy.

That was what was going on -- wasn't it?

She had been terribly worried from the moment she and her mother had left Buffy and Spike's room, scared to death that something was going to go terribly, horribly wrong -- and Spike would be completely alone to have to deal with the consequences of it.

Then, when Buffy had called and told her that the mating ritual had gone off perfectly, but now they wanted to wait until morning -- she had to confess, it had seemed a little odd to her. She had tried to think positively, tried to not worry and give them space.

After all -- they had just experienced a very profound, very powerful thing. It only stood to reason that they would want a little bit of privacy to adjust together, to get used to the changes in their bond without her and her mother around to make things seem awkward and -- well, just a little bit icky.

But after several hours had passed with no word from the Slayer or the vampire, Dawn had been too anxious to simply let it go. She had figured that she could just make a quick call. If she was -- er -- interrupting them...well, then, a bit of embarrassment was a small price to pay for making sure that her best friend -- and her sister, for that matter -- were indeed safe.

But her conversation with Spike had left her more worried, rather than less.

It seemed odd, the light, cheerful sort of tone he had used with her, the slightly inappropriate laughter at times when she knew him well enough to know that he usually would not have laughed -- his whole manner had seemed a bit -- well, forced.

She had wondered if she had been imagining it, but it had seemed to her at the time like he was rushing her to get off the phone -- just trying to get through the conversation and appease her so that he could hang up.

Well, of course he was trying to hang up! she berated herself, rolling her eyes at her own ignorance. This is the vampire equivalent of his honeymoon -- and you're the annoying relative!

Still -- something did not quite seem right to her.

Why had he actually acted surprised that she might be concerned -- as if there was no reason in the world for her to be afraid?

As if her sister had not tried to kill them both just a matter of a few short hours ago?

No, she thought again. Something is so not right. Maybe I should call again...

But -- what if you're just being paranoid? What if you call again, and you just interrupt them again? They're gonna hate you in the morning...

But what if he's in danger? What if they need me? I should go over there...

Yeah -- and scar all of you for life! Right.

"Great," she whispered aloud with no little sarcasm. "Now I'm the one who's turning into a schizo."

Dawn sighed heavily, rolling over in the bed, turning away from her mother, in the next bed. Joyce had willingly accepted Buffy's claim to want to wait until morning. Honestly, Dawn thought she probably just didn't really want to think about it much. For a mom who had learned far too much about her daughter's private affairs in the past few days -- Denial could be a beautiful thing.

Dawn closed her eyes, determined to forget her worries and go to sleep.

Surely she was just being paranoid.

There was nothing to worry about. Chances were incredibly good that Spike and Buffy were just making with the heavy duty smoochies -- and then some -- and wanted a little bit of privacy.

And if that was the case -- she was more than happy to grant them that privacy.

That was the case -- wasn't it?

Spike stared at the cruelly expectant, coldly smiling Slayer, one eyebrow slowly rising in a dubious look of disbelief. Had she really just said…?

"Come again?" he asked slowly, in a deathly cold, calm voice, a dangerous glint of anger in his crystal blue eyes at what she was suggesting.

The Slayer did not seem the least bit intimidated by his demeanor – if anything, she seemed to find it amusing.

After all – what did she have to be afraid of at the moment, anyway? He was the one chained to the bed and helpless, wasn't he? he reminded himself with bitter self-disgust.

"You heard me," she smirked, a soft sneer in her voice to match the hardness in her eyes. "You're going to kill Dawn."

"In case you've forgotten, love," Spike said in a quiet, even tone that barely managed to cloak his rising anger, "your little mind control trick doesn't work anymore. And as we've already established the fact that I'd rather die than see her hurt – I don't see how you think you're ever going to make that happen."

"We've also already established that I have no desire to kill you," the Slayer reminded him, a slightly teasing note to her voice, which faded away in an instant with her next words. There was a dark, chilling menace in her eyes of jade as they met his and she quietly made her point.

"Things change."

He held her gaze, unflinching, though he felt his stomach drop at the calm, deadly tone of her voice and the slightly veiled threat of her words. But the fear of her killing him was nothing compared to the slight inkling of doubt in the back of his mind that kept wondering -- was there some way that she could manage to control his mind again, and force him to…?

Her dark, rich laugh filled his ears, as she shook her head, relenting slightly. "No – I don't wanna kill you, Baby…" she assured him as she sat up a little more, keeping her eyes focused on his face as she arched her back and reached behind her to run her fingertips slowly up the inside of his thigh.

"I have much more interesting plans for you."

Spike tensed under her touch, trying his best not to move or pull away, knowing that such a reaction would only give her the satisfaction of knowing that she was getting to him; she would see it as a victory, if a small one. He could feel her piercing gaze focused on him, watching him closely as she slowly trailed her hand upward, stopping within an inch of his exposed, vulnerable manhood.

Her soft, chilling laugh suddenly reminded him – he did not have to show his fear and disgust outwardly for her to know about it. She could feel it, through the bond he shared with Buffy.

And apparently, it was enough for her, for the moment.

She relented physically, her hand sliding back down his leg as she climbed off of him and stood up beside the bed, laughing cruelly at his fear. He warily opened his eyes, seeking her out, as he struggled to control the tremors he felt rising in his impossibly tensed muscles, of mingled dread and relief that filled him at the sudden absence of her invasive, unsettling touch.

"But we'll have to get to that later," she told him, leaning over him to caress his cheek in a casual, yet frighteningly intimate way that was designed to evoke fear, rather than pleasure. "We'll have plenty of time," she assured him with a sugary sweet smile of pure menace, as she met his wide, apprehensive blue eyes.

"But first," she finished, turning and walking toward the table where she had dropped her shopping bag, "we've got a dominance ritual to finish. Don't we?"

He stared at her for a long moment, though her back was turned to him and he could not see her face. He could hardly begin to process what she had said. How in the world did the dominance ritual tie in with…?

Then, suddenly – he understood.

She meant to complete the ritual, to defeat and dominate him and bring him back under the control she had lost when Buffy had allowed him to claim her – and then use her power over him to force him to kill Dawn. The very thought sent a chill of fear through him.

But – it wasn't really possible – was it? She couldn't actually…

"Don't know how you mean to perform the bloody ritual with me chained to the soddin' bed," he pointedly out derisively, as a way to possibly make this work to his advantage suddenly occurred to him. "If you'll recall, that was how you got out in the first place – they had to do the spell because the ritual can't be done unless I'm free to fight back, pet!"

"Oh, don't worry," she said, and the cool smirk he could hear in her voice sent a little shiver of dread down his spine, as she worked over the bag on the table, keeping her back to him so that he couldn't see what she was doing. "When we get ready to do the ritual – you'll fight me, all right."

The cruel, evil pleasure of expectancy in her voice was dark and ominous and made him suddenly desperate to know what she was doing – what she had gone to Walmart in the middle of the night to buy – and at the same time, terrified to find out.

Then, the suspense was ended as she turned around to face him, her arms full of what had been the content of the shopping bag – and his stomach dropped at the sight of the objects she held.

She shrugged casually, smiling at the wide-eyed fearful look on his face, "Can't guarantee you'll be in any shape to win -- but you'll most definitely be free to fight me."

Although he knew by now that it was a useless effort, Spike could not help but pull against the chains that bound him, as she made her way slowly back toward him. The feeling of being trapped, helpless, began to overwhelm him, and he fought back a choking, smothering sense of panic as she reached his side.

Slowly, systematically, she laid her little toys down on the bed beside him, above his bound arms, inches from his head, deliberately allowing him to see each one as she laid it down.

Although he wanted very much to not think about it, his mind began a mental catalogue of her little arsenal as she carefully arrayed the implements of torture that she had gathered around him.

She must have truly frightened the cashier at Walmart, he thought, dressed all in her black leather, and purchasing the wide variety of different knives she had chosen. A few regular kitchen knives, relatively dull – but any knife could be sharp enough, with Slayer strength behind it, he reminded himself with a sense of dread – an exacto knife with a razor sharp, though tiny, blade – even a dangerous looking hunting knife that she had most likely picked up in sporting goods.

More alarming to the vampire than the knives, was the little black and red fire starter, the kind of long-handled lighter used for lighting candles or pilot light that had gone out – though he knew that she had a much darker purpose in mind for this one.

"Oh, and one more thing!" she announced with the giddy glee of a child at the carnival, as she climbed up on the bed to straddle his waist again, waiting until she was settled comfortably to reach into the pocket of the skin-tight leather pants.

He strained uselessly against the chains that held him there under her, biting his lip to keep from growling with frustrated fear.

"You know those little stands by the check outs with tacky little key chains and good luck charms and stuff?" she asked casually, taking out a small glass vial and holding it up with a vicious, vindictive little smile. "It's amazing what passes for a good luck charm in a little out of the way California town populated mostly by Hispanic Catholics."

It was a tiny bottle of holy water – and judging by the expression on her face – and the slight bulge still in the pocket of her pants – he was sure that it was not the only bottle she had bought.

A dark, heavy knot of foreboding formed in the pit of his stomach – but he fought it back valiantly.

Wouldn't solve anything, losing his head now.

"So what's your plan, then, pet?" he asked in a voice of boredom and mild curiosity, trying to mask his fear with calm unconcern. "Taking time out for a party before you get down to business? Bit unprofessional don't you think?"

She chuckled, a low, dark sound in her throat. Her smile slowly faded with her laughter, until hard, glittering green eyes glared at him. "You really are stupid, aren't you?" she commented flatly – not asking, stating a fact as she saw it. "It should be completely clear what I'm doing."

"Well, why don't you enlighten me, pet?" he suggested with a smirk that he knew would simply infuriate her. "Since I'm such a bloody moron – why don't you explain to me what your brilliant little head's concocted?"

The patronizing note to his voice, the mocking sparkle in his blue eyes, caused the Slayer's expression to darken with anger, her eyes narrowing with menace.

"Personally," she said, in an unearthly soft, dangerous voice, "I've always preferred object lessons. Much more effective."

She twisted the cap off of the tiny bottle in her hand, tilting it slightly as she held it out over his chest. He tensed in anticipation, but she did not allow the fluid to spill out onto his skin – not yet, anyway.

"Here's the thing, Baby," she remarked softly, moving the bottle back and forth in a smooth, vicious little hovering dance.

She seemed to be very much enjoying her little game, tilting the bottle sharply – but not quite sharply enough – here and there – smiling as his wide eyes followed its every move, belying the casual defiance in his words, relishing his little gasp as she suddenly tipped it a bit further than she had yet, and he was sure that she was going to burn him with the holy water – but she didn't.

"You're right – for the ritual to work, you have to be free to fight me," she conceded in a calm, quietly patronizing voice. She was silent for a moment – before she suddenly leaned forward, grabbing his hair and tilting his head back, poising the bottle over his throat – directly over the mark of Buffy's claim on him.

His stomach leapt up into his throat with terror. Instinctively, he knew that she had chosen the most painful possible place to burn him – and she was not simply playing around this time.

Sure enough, in the next instant, she tilted the bottle a bit further, allowing a thin trickle of the liquid to flow out – onto the sensitive spot on his neck where her alter ego had made him hers.

He choked back a strangled cry of pain, biting his lip until it bled, breathing hard as he struggled not to reveal just how badly she had hurt him – but his very struggle was all the revelation she needed.

She laughed softly, pleased with the effect of her actions, as she leaned down closer, bringing her face within inches of his, as with her free hand she turned his face back toward hers, waiting until he reluctantly met her eyes, his own full of pain and a fear that he could not conceal.

"The ritual doesn't say a thing," she whispered, holding eye contact as her lips drifted suggestively nearer to the seared flesh of the mark, "about what condition you have to be in to participate in it, just that you have to be free to fight back. Somebody's got to be the stronger party, right?"

Her smile widened slightly, as she lowered her lips in a soft, tender kiss that was agonizing against his badly injured skin, compounded by the natural sensitivity of the mark. He pulled weakly away with a stifled moan of pain, but her soft hand on his cheek was unyielding, refusing to allow him escape as she finished her leisurely affections to his wounded throat.

Finally, waiting long enough to make it clear that it was her decision to stop, she raised her lips from the wound, her hand caressing lightly through his hair in a mockery of affection and tenderness, and his heart sank as understanding came with her whispered words.

"You have to be free to fight me – no one ever said you had to be strong enough to win."


	67. Chapter 67

"Funny – would have thought the source of the Slayer's mighty power would like a bit more of a challenge than this."

Considering the perilous situation he was in, Spike's voice was remarkably light and casually, though there was no mistaking the tremor of pain in his voice, and the impossibly taut muscles of his arms and shoulders that gave his fear away, before he even spoke at all.

"Turns out the big bad Slayer demon gets off on torturing someone who can't fight back at all, rather than a real fight – ironic little switch there, considering the Slayer's being all chosen and righteous and all."

"She may be 'all chosen and righteous' - I'm not," the Slayer demon smirked, as she set aside the empty bottle and reached for one of the various knives that she had assembled around her victim's exposed, vulnerable body. "Those insolent, foolish men – millennia ago – they forced me into a prison – used my power against me, placed it in a mere mortal girl, to destroy my own kind…"

The disgust and bitterness in her voice gave way to a wicked triumph as she added, "…but not anymore."

"Personally – all that virtue and honor and protecting of innocents – makes me want to vomit. Sitting idly by – forced to just watch as girl after pathetic human girl used my power in the most unnatural of ways," she went on, shaking her head slowly, a far off look in her eyes.

Suddenly she shook her head again, more quickly, as if trying to clear it of the distasteful images, before smiling down at him coldly.

"But that's all over now – or it's about to be," she informed him, her eyes moving from his pain-filled, wary face to the blade in her hand, and back again with a smirk. "I'm going to put you back in your rightful place – at my feet," she sneered softly, lowering the blade to trace along the chiseled planes of his chest, without quite breaking the skin.

Spike tensed at the threatening contact, but his jaw set with determination. He was not about to let this thing break him, though he knew she meant to try.

"And then," she went on, her voice soft and almost hypnotic, as she trailed the weapon, as yet harmlessly, across his stomach, smiling at the slight quiver that went through the vampire's cool flesh at the touch of the cooler metal, "you're going to kill the girl – and the mother, too, for good measure," she shrugged carelessly. "No sense leaving loose ends lying around."

"I'll never do it," Spike interrupted without hesitation, his voice soft but certain. "Don't care what you bloody do to me – don't care if the bloody bond kills me – I won't hurt them."

"Silly," she chided him with a chilling gentleness in her voice, and he stiffened as she accompanied the soft word with an infinitely more threatening gesture, sliding the blade across his stomach and down to trace the line of hi hip. "You'll do whatever I tell you to do – once the dominance ritual is complete, and you're mine to command again."

As much as he wanted to argue with her, Spike did not respond, turning his head away and closing his eyes, trying not to think about the vicious blade and its slow, terrifying exploration of his body.

He knew that thinking was as good as saying, due to the mating claim. In time, he and Buffy would be able to learn to control their mental connection – to build mutual, respected barriers between them, to prevent their most private personal thoughts from the other's indiscriminate knowledge.

But now, with the claim so new to them, there were no such boundaries in place; had Buffy been in control at the moment, she would have been able to hear and feel every thought and emotion of her mate, and he would have been able to do the same.

As it was, the unwelcome visitor in Buffy's body could freely read his mind as she chose.

He actually found it somewhat comforting that he could not read the demon's mind – a proof to him that the mating claim was between him and Buffy -- not him and the demon. It worried him, however, that he could not sense Buffy in her own body, at all. Was she pushed so far back at the moment that he simply could not reach her. He wondered if he should try again to contact her, but was certain that doing so would only further infuriate the Slayer above him.

And wasn't she hearing all of these thoughts, anyway? he wondered with a sudden alarm, mingled with irritation, as he realized that even if she was, there was precious little he could do about it.

'S not like I can bloody well stop thinking!

He glanced up at her sideways for a moment, attempting to gauge her mood, her attention to his thoughts, from her expression. Apparently, he decided, he was in the clear. She did not seem to be paying much attention to him, really.

She was too focused on the beloved sound of her own bloody voice.

"You'll be mine," she was going on, in a voice of cruel contentment, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the wall behind him, thinking, "they'll be dead – and I'll…rule. And maybe – sometime during all of that…you'll start…"

She surprised him by suddenly twisting around slightly to move the blade behind her back, placing it in a lightning fast, terribly frightening move, right at the base of his semi-hardened manhood, jerking it up just a fraction of an inch – but more than enough to make him jump with a little strangled cry of fear.

She smiled at his reaction as she leaned down close to him, meeting his eyes, without moving the blade, to finish in a whisper, "…paying attention. Are you, Baby? Paying attention?" she asked expectantly, a wicked sparkle of amusement in her eyes at his obvious terror.

Spike swallowed reflexively, drawing in a sharp breath as she jerked the knife upward just a fraction of an inch – not enough to do any actual damage, but enough to be extremely uncomfortable – not to mention bloody terrifying.

Knowing it would not be to his benefit to provoke her further – not at this moment, with her vicious weapon poised so perilously near to his most vital and sensitive organ – he nodded quickly, replying in a low, slightly shaking voice that he still managed to keep somewhat calm, "Yes – definitely paying attention, love…"

She eased the pressure she was exerting just slightly, but did not move the knife. "That's good, Sweetheart," she said softly, running her unoccupied hand slowly up his side, bringing it up to cup his cheek for a moment before moving it behind his head to grip his hair and pull his head back firmly.

He could not possibly have felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, as she lowered her lips to the mark on his throat for just a moment, toying with the idea of the bond she was about to initiate, without really pursuing it – yet.

"…because I'd hate to have to do something drastic in order to get your attention," she finished softly.

After a moment's silence, the blonde vampire responded in a quiet, impressively controlled voice, "Don't think you'd really want to do anything that drastic, love. 'D be like cutting off your soddin' nose to spite your pretty little face, wouldn't it?" He grimaced slightly at the comparison, adding, "…in a manner of speaking."

The almost child-like curiosity in her voice sent an involuntary shudder down his spine as she asked with no small interest, "Would it grow back?"

He met her eyes in alarm at the question, not answering her.

"What?" she asked, a bit defensively – but her eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "I just want to know!"

"Can't say as I'd know, pet," Spike replied in a dry voice of faint derision. "Don't know any vamps what's ever had the bloody bad luck to test that question. But even with vamp healing – can't imagine it would grow back fast enough."

She arched an eyebrow questioningly, and he knew that she was wondering what he thought he knew of her plans.

"It's not like you've kept it a big bloody secret, love," he informed her, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Way I see it – you're a bit pressed for time. You're needing to do this ritual right away – and I can't see how you're going to seal it with a proper shag, like you need to do, if you've lopped off my shagging bits by then!"

Her eyes narrowed in anger at his careless, unconcerned tone, even with the knife still held dangerously against the base of his member. He could see it in her eyes – her frustration and confusion. He wasn't supposed to think her plan through better than she did! He wasn't supposed to inform her why she couldn't carry out her threat.

He was supposed to be terrified beyond all reason – and yet, he still seemed quite capable of reason.

Why?

She tried to recover the upper hand she felt like she was losing, drawing a cruel smirk to her face. "Oh, I don't think it'd take so very long -- little repair job like that," she sneered pointedly, glancing over her shoulder with derision at his exposed body. "A couple hours, tops, to grow that itty bitty thing back."

Although he knew that she was trying to make him angry, he couldn't help but be – well -- angry.

"Bitch," he muttered under his breath, looking away from her, not wanting her to see the hatred blazing from his eyes.

Her eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, before narrowing again in anger. She suddenly began to increase the pressure of the knife, slowly, for a few seconds, and he winced, suddenly wondering with alarm if perhaps he had pushed her just a bit too far.

"Maybe you're right," she said finally, her angry expression shifting into a cool, calculating smile. "We haven't got a lot of time to work with. Enough talk."

She lowered the knife, allowing the blade to shift so that it rested against the inside of his thigh again – and then suddenly slashed it cruelly down his leg, leaving a deep, vicious gash about six inches long.

He fought back a cry of pain, as he felt the lukewarm wetness of the blood – blood taken from Buffy's own veins, hours earlier – soak his leg, running down to fall onto the sheets beneath his body – and he could almost feel the strength of it flowing from him as well.

The Slayer brought the blood-stained knife back around in front of her, smiling down at him cruelly as she pressed it to his side, poised for another cut.

"Time to get down to business, Baby," she said softly, a suddenly serious sound to her voice, though the laughter only slightly faded from her eyes. "Get you all ready for your big fight."

He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming – he was determined not to give her the pleasure – as she drew the blade viciously down his side, leaving another deep, bloody gash to pour out onto the bed.

A low chuckle rose in her throat, and she shook her head slightly. "So brave," she murmured, partially genuine admiration mingling with the mockery in her tone, as she leaned down over him, trailing the blade down his cheek in a teasing sort of threat.

Against his instinct, he did not flinch – though his entire body was taut with fear and pain.

Her smile faded at the lack of the response she had expected, as she put the knife down beside his head, and ran her hand through his hair in a mockery of affection. Her right hand slid down his side, to rest over the bleeding wound, the searing heat of her hot skin against his cool flesh, an ominous warning of what was to come.

He tried to shift away from her touch, but her knee on the other side of him kept him from moving far.

Her dark, penetrating gaze drew his eyes to hers, and the smile on her face made him want to look away – but he refused to allow himself to do it.

Don't back down – don't look away – don't scream…. he ordered himself fiercely. …don't give her the bloody satisfaction.

She smiled into his eyes, with a peculiar understanding, and he remembered too late that she could still hear his desperate thoughts – just before she gripped the gushing wound, digging vicious nails into already torn flesh and causing him to jerk against the bonds that held him, instinctively – though he kept his mouth stubbornly shut.

"Oh, I can make you scream, Baby – make you beg – make you break and bleed until there's nothing left that even resembles the master you once were. You're mine, Spike. Mine -- and…"

Suddenly, her voice broke off and the painful pressure on his side eased; he looked up to see that her eyes were closed, and a little grimace of discomfort and uncertainty had stolen over her face. He stared at her for a moment, puzzled, not sure what was happening – and then a wild hope of realization began to build within him.

Buffy?

The Slayer let out a savage growl of frustration and fear, as she put her hands to her head and pressed at her temples, as if trying to physically hold herself together. He could hear Buffy's heart pounding quicker as the battle within her intensified – and then he felt it – a slight fluttering of a presence not belonging to the brutal demon he had been facing only moments before.

A slow smirk came across his face, in spite of the pain and the danger he was still in.

"Looks like somebody found her fight after all," he remarked, though his voice was hoarse and shaky from pain and exhaustion. "Seems she don't much care for you messing with her mate."

"Shut up!" she nearly screamed, and the powerful wave of rage he could feel rolling off of her made him flinch in spite of his resolve. "Shut up, now!"

The Slayer was on the verge of losing control; he could feel it – and so could she.

She had inadvertently managed to awaken something in Buffy's repressed spirit that just might prove to be stronger than her Slayer strength – her love for the vampire on the bed beneath her.

But Buffy was tired.

Spike could feel that, too.

She had been fighting hard to resurface, though unsuccessfully, this whole time – she had simply been too weakened to do it. The mating claim had taken a lot of emotional energy out of her, that the demon still had to work with. He could feel Buffy's desperation, her need to come to his aid, in spite of the fact that she was quickly wearing out.

Even if she managed to gain control now – she would not be able to hold onto it for long.

As if Buffy had just realized that fact as well, Spike suddenly felt a surge in her effort, as she seemed to push with everything she had to overwhelm the Slayer's power and come to the surface – if only for a moment.

And in the next instant – he saw her there, the look in her eyes unmistakable.

Buffy.

Their eyes locked together, and for that brief instant, everything else fell away. Spike felt a sense of awe as he saw the flash of determination in her emerald gaze – just before the demon was shoved violently far back within her; and though he knew that she would quickly rise back up with a vengeance, it was still impressive. He knew that, if only briefly, Buffy had managed to lock her out of this intense, private moment.

This was for her and her mate alone to share.

The sorrowful look in her eyes, however, told him what he really already knew – they wouldn't have more than a few seconds. There was only one gesture she had time for in the moments allowed to them, that would be of any help to him – but it would be more than he needed.

She stretched out her hand in an instantaneous movement, placing it firmly over the torn mark on his throat – and the sensation of warmth, connection, comfort and safety that washed over him in that moment was desperately needed. And with the flood of strengthening emotions that coursed through him, came a sudden understanding that he had lacked – a knowledge of a serious flaw in the Slayer's plan.

And a plan that Buffy had been developing of her own.

His eyes widened on hers, and he nodded slightly in agreement to what she was silently, instantly telling him, as it all flooded into him in a single moment – all the support, knowledge, and strength he needed to carry through what had to be done – and so much more.

I love you.

He heard her tender words in his head, strong and clear – just before he felt the Slayer surging back to the forefront – and regaining control of the body above him.

Wide-eyed with panic and a mad fury, not quite aware yet that Buffy was no longer fighting for control, she snatched up a knife from the bed in trembling hands – randomly, not caring which one, her grip alarmingly unsteady, as she brought the blade to his throat.

"I'll kill him!" she snarled in a voice that was full of menace and terror all at once. "I'll kill him, I will, if you don't back off!"

The silence that followed her ragged, high-pitched emotional outburst stood out in a sharp contrast to it, as she caught her breath, slowly coming to realize that the battle had ended – for the moment – and she was back in control.

Her almost feral jade eyes came to focus on Spike's face again, as a cool smile came over her face. She laughed, triumphantly, yet still with a note of giddy disbelief at her own success. She had come awfully close to losing that time.

Far closer than she realized.

"Guess she doesn't care all that much after all – does she?" she smirked, her invasive hand once again finding the tender, seeping wound on his side.

Spike did not respond, his face contorting slightly with pain – a look of resignation sliding across his face as she reached for a weapon to resume her brutal breaking of his body.

As she picked up the lighter in her hand, holding it up in front of her face to press the button, smiling cruelly into the blue flame that it emitted – she completely missed the faint, barely there smile of hope and victory that crossed the vampire's lips.

Because now – he knew how to beat her – and there was no way that she could win.


	68. Chapter 68

"You know you'll never win this," Spike taunted the Slayer softly, his eyes closed against the silent menace of her toying iwth the weapon she held.

"You know," the Slayer countered with a chilling smile, staring into the dancing blue flame at the end of the lighter in her hand, "You might just be turning out to be just a little bit more trouble than you're worth, Spikey…" Her eyes darkened with malice as she brought the lighter close to his face, gripping his hair and holding his head in place when he tried to pull away from the heat of the flame.

"I am really gonna enjoy taking you apart," she informed him in a soft voice full of vindictive hatred.

"Just got one question for you, pet," Spike said quietly, the faint smirk on his lips widening slightly, in spite of the threat of the flame, less than an inch from his face and painful, searing, even without actually touching him. "If you plan on tearing me to literal bloody pieces before we do this ritual – since you know that's the only soddin' chance you've got of winning – then how do you figure on my being strong enough to do in anybody immediately following?"

The Slayer laughed softly in surprise. "It's a little girl and a middle-aged woman! If a master vampire can't take them out in any condition – that's just sad, Sweetheart."

Spike laughed as well, surprising her again, though the sound was weak and tired. "Obviously you've not been around long enough to see Bitty mad…really mad…or you'd know that she may be small, but she can be a force to be reckoned with…and as for Joyce – she's the only thing that kept me from killing Buffy the first time we fought. And she may not have a bleedin' axe on hand at the moment -- though I wouldn't put it past her --but I still wouldn't threaten her girls in front of her if I was in perfect health – let alone after you get done having your bit of fun."

"Well, then – I guess you'd better take out the mother first, then. After that, little Dawnie should be too traumatized to put up much of a fight."

The chilling, matter-of-fact tone with which she spoke set a sense of dread creeping through him, to hear such horrific words coming out of Buffy's mouth, in Buffy's voice – though he knew that it was not possibly Buffy who was saying them. He reminded himself of that, over and over, fighting back a sense of panic at what the Slayer was saying.

It wasn't possible that she could actually force him to hurt Dawn and Joyce…was it?

It's all right, my love.

Buffy's soft, reassuring voice echoed in his mind, much nearer than it had been before, and just the sound of it, the feeling of her so close to him, was calming and comforting. He looked carefully at the Slayer still sitting on top of him, a cruel, satisfied smirk on her face, half-expecting her to have heard the words – though he knew that she could not have.

It's okay, Buffy repeated softly. She can't make you do anything…remember that…you're mine, my mate – and you always will be, no matter what ritual she tries to perform.

Spike felt encouraged by her closeness, her soothing words, and remembered what it was that he had to do. Strengthened by his mate's affections, he focused back on the face of his tormentor, shrugging as casually as possible considering the severe pain he was in already.

And she had barely even begun.

"I'm just saying, pet…after you get done 'preparing' me for this bloody battle we're about to have – and then you get done mopping up the floor with my arse – which shouldn't bloody well count anyway considering you've gotta spend a couple hours torturing and bleeding me first – I just don't see how you expect me to be up to offing anyone."

He paused. "Joyce and Dawn love me – but if they see that I mean to kill them – either one of them would dust me before they'd let me hurt the other," he stated with absolute certainty.

"Well," the Slayer shrugged, a look of slight annoyance on her face as she considered his words, recognizing that he was presenting her with a genuine flaw in her plan. "you'll be under my control as soon as the dominance ritual is done. Slayer's blood is very powerful. I could always – let you have a little drink to get your strength back up, after I win – before I send you to take care of them."

"How could you be guaranteed I'd stop?" Spike countered defiantly. "I'd gladly accept your offer, just to have the chance to drain you dry!"

"And Buffy, with me?" she smirked, her eyebrows raised questioningly – but her eyes were blazing with anger at his threat. "You kill me – you kill her, Spike – and I know you don't want that."

"But I kill Dawn – I kill Buffy, too – right?" he pointed out grimly. "So the way I see it – my choice is between killing the person I love the most – or killing her and another person I love dearly as well. Not that bloody difficult a decision, pet."

Good – that's it, Buffy's gentle, affectionate encouragement in his mind made him feel stronger, more certain, as he waited for the demon's response. Doing so good, Sweetheart…

The Slayer's smile faded completely with her anger at his daring to argue with her, to threaten her, when she was so clearly in complete control of the situation. She moved the lighter quickly, too quickly for him to prepare himself, holding the flame to his stomach with vindictive anger in her eyes.

The vampire let out a cry of pain that was almost a roar, vamping out in his agony and anger at the torture she was inflicting. The Slayer glanced toward the door, concerned by the level of noise he was making, but not daring to attempt to stifle his cry by covering his mouth -- not while his mouth was currently his most lethal weapon.

She reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and holding it, as she raised the flame to hold it next to his ridged – and highly flammable – cheek. He tried to pull away, but was too weakened by the pain he was in to manage it.

"Why don't you put those away, Baby?" she suggested softly, in a menacing tone that made it clear that it was not a suggestion. "Shut your mouth – and put away those fangs, they look dangerous."

The soft mockery mingled with dangerous menace in her voice, in combination with the merciless pain of the open flame at his face, sent Spike swiftly toward the edge of panic.

Buffy – Buffy, I don't know if I can…

Spike…I'm right here…I love you, and it's gonna be all right…calm down…you know what you have to do…you can do this, Honey, I know you can…

With an extreme effort, through the pain and fury that filled him at the Slayer's abuse, he managed to push back his demon visage and let his human face resurface, biting back the cries of pain that rose in his throat, forcing himself to be still and quiet and submissive – for the moment.

Satisfied, the Slayer removed the flame from his face before addressing his last words. "You don't have a choice, Spike. Once the dominance ritual is done, if I choose to let you drink from me, in order to make you strong enough to kill Dawn and Joyce – you will stop when I tell you to stop…because you won't have the option not to. Is that clear, Sweetheart?" she asked, leaning in close to him, her fingertips brushing in a cruel, light touch across the seared flesh on his cheek.

Though he longed to declare that she could never bring him under dominance to her – that he would never hurt those dearest to him – though he wanted nothing more than to curse her and tell her just how little he thought of her – he knew that he couldn't do that, though it was terribly tempting.

Wait – wait, Buffy quietly urged him in his mind, and he could feel the warmth of her love, the soft, bittersweet sensation of her sorrow and compassion at his pain that she felt as her own. I know it's hard – I want to kill her myself for what she's doing to you – but we have to wait…"

Accepting that his mate's words were true, Spike simply nodded in acceptance of the Slayer's words – which he knew were not -- his jaw set in determination not to give up the one very vital advantage he and Buffy had.

"Good," the Slayer murmured softly, setting the lighter aside for the moment and picking up another weapon – the hunting knife she had chosen from the sporting goods section at Wal-Mart. "Now – where were we?"

Two doors down the hall, two hours later, Dawn was still awake, and trying desperately to repress her mounting fears for her sister and her friend.

Something was terribly wrong – she could feel it. It had to be more than her imagination – didn't it?

But then – she had seen so many dark, frightening things over the past couple of days – things her mind had not yet had time to deal with – it was definitely possible that she was just over-paranoid and worried for no reason – right?

She sat up in the bed in the darkened room, glancing over at the next bed where her mother slept fitfully, tossing every now and then and talking softly in her sleep, obviously troubled even in unconsciousness. She glanced toward the table beside the bed, where the key to Spike's and Buffy's room lay, and then toward the motel room door.

Should I go? she wondered anxiously, her heart pounding with apprehension and uncertainty. If it's nothing…

But – if it's not nothing…

She glanced at the phone on the nightstand, picking it up and pressing a button to make the screen light up. No missed calls.

But that did not mean that everything was all right.

She hesitated, before suddenly making up her mind – getting out of the bed and moving purposefully to her suitcase to throw on some clothes.

She didn't feel think it would be terribly intimidating to go into battle with a scary demon clad in her Hello Kitty pajamas.

"Well – I think I've just about exhausted my imagination – for the moment," the Slayer remarked calmly, glancing down at the badly weakened vampire lying on the bed beneath her – covered in blood and badly burned, his unnecessary but instinctive breath coming ragged and uneven in the face of the agony he was trying very hard not to give in to.

The Slayer climbed off of him, taking no care about jarring his brutalized body, and he bit back a cry of pain, his eyes closing for a moment as he fought against the bright flashes of color before his eyes that sought to steal his consciousness.

She stood beside him, leaning over him with a cruel smile, vicious fingers like claws yanking his blood-matted hair back and whispering close to his ear, "I'm sure I can think of some other things later – once you're mine to play with…"

He cringed at the very thought, fighting off a sense of despair at her words. He knew what was going to happen – knew how it was going to turn out, in the end – but the agony, the persistent fear birthed by her cruel words over the past few hours, seemed to say otherwise.

I love you, Spike, Buffy reassured him softly. Almost through, Honey…it's almost over…you are so amazing, do you know that? You're gonna be fine, Sweetheart, okay?

He almost nodded, but then realized that the motion would be inconsistent with what the Slayer had just said, and he did not want to give away the truth that she had not yet discovered.

Okay…love you, Buffy…

The harsh clattering of the chains as they fell away, allowing his battered, weakened limbs to collapse to the bed, drew him from the intimate communication he was sharing with his mate. Roughly, the powerful Slayer grabbed him and yanked him off of the bed, throwing him to the floor beside the bed.

As he struggled to pull himself up to a sitting position, he heard her voice, hollow and distant through the fog of pain that surrounded him, but full of unmistakable evil menace.

"I challenge you, Spike, William the Bloody, master of the line of Aurelius, to defend your liberty – to claim your own right over your own will – which I now claim to be mine," she declared the words as if from memory, much more precise and particular than the somewhat shoddy translation Buffy had used.

This is it…you can do this, Spike…you know what to do, Buffy told him, her voice encouraging and strengthening in his mind – as the battered blonde vampire braced his arm on the bed beside him and dragged himself to stand on shaking legs – trembling with sheer weakness and pain – but not with fear.

He was not afraid – not anymore.

"I – I accept your challenge," he declared in a quiet, weakened voice, barely over a whisper, meeting her eyes boldly, defiantly – though it was a struggle just to stay on his feet for the moment.

It didn't matter.

He knew that this evil creature before him, wearing his lover's face, could never make him hers.

He already belonged to another, as her eternal mate – and that was a claim that stood stronger than any other.

"You're all alone, Spike," the Slayer taunted him softly, circling slowly around him, not allowing him out of the corner he was in, watching him carefully – though physically, he posed no threat. "No one to help you – completely alone – and soon, you'll belong to me."

Mine, Spike…you're mine…and I'm yours…no one else's, no matter what…remember that whatever happens now, nothing can change that…

Yours, Buffy, he reiterated in his mind, drawing strength from the simple words that passed between them. Only yours…and you're mine…

He drew encouragement from the fact that the Slayer was absolutely unaware of the words that passed between them in his mind. She had felt Spike's emotions, his fear and uncertainty, varying with courage and determination – but due to what Buffy had done earlier, she could not make out his distinct thoughts – did not know of the conversation taking place in his mind.

She heard nothing from Buffy, had not for some time, but she assumed that she had simply pushed the girl back so far within her own mind that she had not been able to resurface yet – and would not be able to, until it was too late.

She never would have guessed at the truth.

She could not sense the presence of the girl who was made a Slayer by her power – because Buffy was not there.

And Spike was definitely not alone.


	69. Chapter 69

Spike fought back against the cloudy red haze swiftly creeping in along the edges of his vision, threatening to overwhelm him and take his consciousness. His legs were holding him up – but just barely, shaking and weakened from the extreme blood loss that the Slayer had caused with her vicious knives, and the pain of the numerous cruel injuries she had inflicted on his body.

He found himself leaning back, bracing most of his weight against the wall beside the bed, struggling just to stay on his feet, as he closed his eyes for a moment and just tried to regain the control that he felt was slipping away from him at an alarming rate.

Focus, Spike…you have to do this, Honey…I know it's hard…

Buffy's softly encouraging, yet intense, firm voice in his head, was the only thing that kept him from giving in to the darkness that was steadily creeping in on him.

I don't know if I can do this, pet…I can barely stay on my bloody feet…there's no way I can even begin to try to beat her…

His soft, whispered thoughts held a note of desperation bordering on panic; pain and fear and sheer exhaustion had made his thinking fuzzy and muddled, and he had nearly forgotten the plan that she had whispered to him earlier, the ironic truth that was the only way that this creature could be defeated.

All he knew was that the Slayer demon wanted to bring him into submission to her – and he was in no condition to stop her from doing just that.

You don't have to beat her…you just have to make it look good…don't let it be too easy for her…remember…you're always mine, no matter what…until the end of time…and nothing can change that…

In that moment, he felt a surge of strength flooding through him, not so much physically, but mentally and emotionally, filling his mind with a sudden clarity of purpose, as Buffy deliberately allowed her love and devotion to him to surround him, to flood him and drive out some of the weakness and pain he was struggling against.

Suddenly his eyes flew open with a jolt as he remembered all at once, exactly what he had to do.

"Come on, Baby," the Slayer taunted him softly, moving in slowly closer to him, her narrowed, feral green eyes focused on his face. "Don't make this too easy for me," she unconsciously echoed Buffy's instructions to him only moments before.

With a deliberate effort, Spike leaned forward, standing shakily on his own feet and relinquishing the support of the wall behind him. Although he was weak and exhausted, his body naturally took on a defensive fighting pose, as he tried to force his eyes to focus on the slowly but steadily advancing threat. He was backed into a corner, unable to escape, as she closed the distance between them – but that was all right.

He didn't really want to escape.

Well – that wasn't exactly true. He did want to escape – badly. But that was not what he had to think about right now.

When she was only a few feet away from him, she brought her fist down across his stomach in a breath-taking blow, before gripping his arm and slinging him violently out of the corner, and out onto the very limited open space near the foot of the two beds, where he stumbled and fell, half sitting, half kneeling, on the ragged carpet, coughing as he tried to pull himself back to his feet.

"Wow," she said in a flat voice tinged with disgust. "This is pathetic."

"How 'bout you let me go a round on you like you just did to me, pet," Spike suggested in a low, raspy voice, unable to hold back a bit of angry resentment at her mockery, though he knew that her unfair tactics were going to result in her defeat in the end. "Then see how you hold up in a fight," he muttered, his voice slightly slurred with his weariness as he struggled to pull himself back up to his feet.

The Slayer grinned wickedly, a little half-shrug acknowledging his point. "Nah," she replied, shaking her head. "I like this way better."

"Figures you would," he muttered, his body tensing, watching her warily as she advanced on him again. "So quit your bloody complaining."

The Slayer's smile faded into a dark look of anger, her eyes widening in indignation.

Even weakened, knowing that he didn't stand a chance – she still had not managed to break him.

But before she was finished – she was determined that she would.

She reached him just as he was getting back to his feet, grabbing him around the throat and forcing him back down onto his knees, holding him there as she glared down at him with a cold look of anger. He struggled wearily, weakly, against her grip – but they both knew that after the torture and agony she had put him through – this fight was a joke.

This was no fight.

This was a bloody massacre.

Spike suppressed a smile that would have seemed terribly suspicious given his current circumstances, as he reminded himself, taking strength from the thought, The real fight will come later – and she won't stand a chance…

"You're mine," the Slayer declared in a hard, menacing tone, her grip tightening on his throat as she held him down, not allowing him to rise. "And you're going to admit it. You're going to accept my claim."

You gotta make this believable, Buffy reminded him. Don't give in too easy…

You call this easy, love? he shot back with a disbelieving laugh heard only in his mind – and instantly felt himself surrounded with a warm feeling of comfort and sorrowful affection.

I'm so sorry you're having to go through this, Spike…but it's going to be over soon…and then she won't be able to touch you…

"I'll dust first," he declared, glaring up at the Slayer in defiance, taking courage and strength from Buffy's unfailing support.

He saw the fury and frustration flare up in the Slayer's eyes, but she smiled coldly, calmly, crouching down in front of him, easing her grip slightly but not releasing him as she moved in very close to him, deliberately increasing the intimidation factor with her very nearness, blocking off any thought of escape.

"See – the problem with that theory is – I'd have to actually dust you," she informed him in a soft, patronizingly patient voice. "And I'm not about to do that, Sweetheart…" She leaned in closer, whispering softly near his ear, "…you're way too much fun to play with…"

Spike smiled, not intimidated by her chilling words – because he knew something that she did not. Remembering his mate's instruction to "make it look good", he summoned all the strength that he could muster, just to shift his features into game face, and suddenly lunged for the Slayer.

She had relaxed her grip on his throat, and was caught off guard by his sudden aggression, ducking back just in time to miss his fangs piercing her throat. As it was, as she staggered back, she raised her hand to her cheek, shocked to pull it back bloodied from the twin gashes he had left across her face.

As she stared at him in horror, he had to remind himself that the enemy he was facing was not his mate, in order to keep a similar look of horror from appearing on his own face at the damage he had done to hers.

So sorry, love…didn't want to…

You're doing what you have to do, Spike, Buffy reassured him. When this is all over – we're both gonna have a few scars.

Alarm filled him at those word. That's not gonna…?

Nothing good old-fashioned Slayer healing won't fix, she replied in his mind.

Apparently, the Slayer demon was not inclined to react so calmly to the bleeding wounds the supposedly helpless vampire had just left on her face. Her eyes narrowed in menace, and she stepped closer to him, her hand striking out, fingers spread like claws to rake across his face in vicious retaliation.

He let out a hiss of pain, drawing back as she raised her foot to kick him hard in the stomach, reaching down to grip his hair and slam his head back hard into the dresser behind him.

He struggled to stay conscious as she pressed in close to him again, snarling, "You're gonna pay for that, Baby…you'd be much better off to just make it easy on yourself and accept my claim right now, before you make me really angry. Then maybe I'd be willing to let this slide once you're under my control…"

Spike laughed weakly, opening his hazy eyes to meet hers boldly. "Right. I'm not bloody stupid, pet. I know you're gonna have your bloody fun no matter what I do, and cowtowing to you's not gonna make this any easier on me. So why should it be easy for you?"

The Slayer's sharp fingernails found their way swiftly to the badly burned mark on his throat, viciously gouging the tender flesh, which had not healed as it ordinarily would have, due to the loss of the blood in his body that he would have needed in order to heal properly.

Spike could not hold back a strangled cry of pain, as she sneered softly in his ear, "You're right. That smart mouth of yours is gonna make things pretty tough on you, Baby. I can't wait 'til I can make you shut it completely whenever I get sick of hearing it!"

Still, he was defiant, as he stared back into her eyes boldly and opened his mouth again to declare, "Never gonna…"

Suddenly his words broke off and his eyes closed with pain as her brutal nails scored his throat savagely again. He let out a low, barely stifled cry of pain, taking no care to attempt to hide the effect she was having on him. After all, it was best if she did know she was hurting him – in order to make his submission later all the more believable.

It did hurt, badly – but not enough to have ordinarily made him show it so openly. But the Slayer had no way of knowing how badly it would hurt – only that the mark on his throat held a strange power over him, and would serve to help her control him.

Or rather – it would have…had she still had anything of his mate within her to allow her to use the bond.

Still, he had to make her believe that there would be some reason why he would eventually give in to her demands and accept her claim, didn't she? After Spike had made such a big dramatic show of insisting that he would never let her break him? Thus, it served his purposes perfectly to allow her to think that the mark on his throat gave her more power over him than it actually did at the moment.

"Yes, you are, Spike," she assured him in a whisper with a chilling certainty, a cold, smug smile on her lips as she tightened her hand around his throat. "You're going to accept my claim – because if you don't," she whispered, "you're going to die in agony. And then – I'll just go next door and kill your precious Dawnie and Joyce by myself. It's a bit riskier – but I think I can get to the trigger of the gun in my hand before Dawn can get to me."

She paused, leaning in to soften her whisper, her wicked words sending a shiver of dread down his spine in spite of the fact that he knew the horrific events she spoke of would never actually happen.

"But don't worry – I won't aim for the head or the heart…if I have to kill her – don't think she's gonna die easy! I'll take my time – make it last – it's what I'm good at, you know," she informed him with chilling calm. "It'll be so much easier on both of them if you just submit to me now – and do them in yourself when I tell you to."

There was a false understanding in her voice as she shrugged slightly and finished in a barely audible voice.

"At least this way – you get to say goodbye…"

It's okay, Spike…you know you have to do it…let her believe she's getting to you…but know this…we have to keep her away from Dawnie now…Dawn can't fight her anymore, not any better than I could alone…we can't let her get to Dawn, she'd be defenseless right now…not that that matters at the moment, anyway…it's time…

Buffy's calm, encouraging words, reminding him of their plan, were nevertheless tinged with her own fury at the demon's threat against her family, and the vicious cruelty she was showing to Buffy's mate.

Spike allowed his fear, his desperate love for the two human females in the next room, to show in his voice, as it broke slightly over his words. "Please," he said softly, lowering his head in defeat, "don't do it – don't hurt them…"

"There's really no choice in what happens to them in the end, Baby," she told him with a falsely sweet sympathy, using her fingernail to slice across the badly injured mark again, making his back arch with very real pain as he tried to pull away – to no avail. "All you can do is make it as easy as possible for them – if you really love them…"

She was silent for a moment, allowing her chilling words to sink in, before she added quietly, "The best thing you can do for them is exactly what I say." She leaned in closer, increasing the painful pressure on the mark as she whispered, "Submit, Spike. Accept my claim."

It's all right… Buffy whispered in his mind, her soft, loving tones drowning out the Slayer's cruel seduction to slavery. Mine, Spike…you're mine no matter what she does…it's time…you have to…

Spike lowered his head, the resolve in his face crumbling slightly, as he replied in a quiet, uncertain voice, "No…I – I won't…" then added in a desperate whisper, "Please…"

That was the moment in which the Slayer came to believe that she had won – she had him exactly where she wanted him.

The Slayer smiled coldly. "Yes, you will," she repeated with an oddly gentle surety, removing her hand from the mark, sliding it up behind his head to grip his hair and yank his head back, hard.

Suddenly, her mouth plunged downward over Buffy's mark, her teeth locking onto the sensitive flesh cruelly, tearing at the already ravaged mark. It was terribly painful, terrifying, sending a shock of dark sensations through him, to feel the touch of someone not his mate on the mark, so possessive and violent, attempting to break Buffy's claim and replace it with her own.

The only thing that helped him to push back the fear, that allowed him to bear it as he knew he had to, was the knowledge that no matter what she did, the Slayer would not be able to break Buffy's claim.

"Mine," the Slayer demon snarled as she pulled back from his throat, her mouth stained with his blood, as she jerked his head back harder, deliberately jarring the wound and sending a fresh wave of pain through him. "Mine, Spike – say it! You have no choice!"

We have to do this, Sweetheart…there's no other way…she can't make you hers, Spike…she can't…

Spike turned his head away slightly, allowing a soft sob of pain and confusion to leave his lips – just before the barely whispered word that the Slayer sought, pronouncing his doom.

Or perhaps, her own – though she could not have known it.

The vampire's voice came out in a broken sob of resignation and defeat, as he finally gave her the answer that she longed to hear.

"Yours."


	70. Chapter 70

The Slayer drew back from her badly injured, weakened opponent, her eyes wide in disbelieving surprise and elation. She had not intended to quit until she had "convinced" Spike to accept her claim, had had no doubt that in the end she would succeed – but she had not expected it to be this easy.

"Mine!" she repeated forcefully, just to be sure, drawing his head back with her fist in his hair, to expose the brutalized spot on his throat, torn and bleeding, making him even more vulnerable to her, her mouth hovering over the spot, lest she should have to repeat the claim.

"Yours," he reiterated immediately with a weak nod, in a heavy tone of defeat and resignation, leaving no doubt as to the fact that it would not be necessary.

He was already submitting to her.

She had won!

The Slayer laughed in triumphant surprise as she released him roughly and stood up, leaving Spike struggling through his exhaustion and pain to rise from the floor. Her laughter faded, though her eyes glittered with cruel triumph, as she suddenly seemed to change her mind, grabbing the dizzy, unsteady blonde by the hair and jerked him painfully to his feet.

"Come on, Baby," she purred with a sadistic smile as she met his eyes. "Don't quit on me now! This night is far from over. We've still got to consummate this new little relationship of ours – don't we?"

A chill went down his spine at the words, as a cold, sick feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He could feel Buffy's hatred of the situation as strongly as his own, knew that she wanted desperately to spare him this indignity, this abuse. And along with her sorrow for what he would have to endure, he could feel her possessive, protective anger building within her at the thought of her mate with someone else – even if the "someone else" happened to be in her body at the time.

Do you think you could maybe – do it before she – I mean – take her off guard, maybe? Buffy suggested anxiously in his head.

As awkwardly worded as Buffy's suggestion was, Spike understood what she was saying; but as much as he wanted to say yes, wanted that to be a possibility, Spike knew that the risk was too great. No, he replied reluctantly. I'm too bloody weak, pet…the second she realized what I was doing she'd toss me across the room and the game would be up. Gotta see it through to the end, pet…much as I hate to.

Their conversation was cut abruptly short as the cruel Slayer dragged him to the bed and slammed him down without regard for the tremendous pain he was in. Spike let out a groan of agony at the jarring impact.

I don't know if I can do this, pet, he said suddenly, feeling a dark sense of panic begin to close in on him. Buffy – I have to finish the act for her to think that she's won – and I can't! How the bloody hell am I supposed to make myself…

It's okay, she whispered soothingly. I love you, Spike. I know it's going to be hard – but just listen to me -- focus on me – and I'll try my best to get you through this…we'll get through it, together – okay?

Before he could respond, the Slayer was upon him, the light pressure of her body against him painful, despite her slight weight, managing to reopen several of his wounds, as she held him pinned under her on the bed, smiling with malicious pleasure into his fearful eyes.

"What's the matter, Baby?" she mocked him with false sympathy. "Having a little performance anxiety?"

"Go back to hell," he muttered in response, unable to completely restrain his anger at the cruel, belittling words that seemed to flow so easily from her mouth.

Could he bloody well help it if he couldn't exactly get excited about the idea of shagging the cruel creature that had terrorized and abused him for the past week, and had spent the past few hours torturing him until he could hardly move?

"Sorry if I'm not feeling quite in the mood, pet," he sneered. "But did you ever think that maybe you're the one what's lackin'?"

Spike! Buffy's voice rang out in his head in alarm. Don't! You're supposed to be submitting to her…

Not yet, I'm not, he countered in a dark, resentful tone. I may have no choice but to let her touch me – but I don't have to pretend to like it. The bond wouldn't go into effect until after the act, anyway, pet – and I'm gonna tell this soddin' bint just what I think of her in the mean time!

Buffy's typical steely stubbornness was evident even in her mental voice as she shot back, You won't be telling her anything if she kills you, Spike. You're in no condition to be…

The Slayer's forceful slap across his face abruptly cut off their little mental argument, as she grabbed him and slammed his head into the headboard with vicious force, nearly knocking him unconscious with the violence of the blow.

"Shut up!" she snarled into his face, pulling him back close to her again, one hard hand sliding down between their bodies to wrap tightly around his vulnerable member. "You wanna keep this?" she demanded in a nasty, threatening tone, squeezing just hard enough to border on painful.

"You wanna keep this?" he shot back without hesitation, glancing down with pointed arrogance at his own body, before meeting her eyes in a challenge. " 'Cause if you do, you'd best lay off the manly bits until after you've completed the soddin' ritual, don't you think? Or I'll never really be yours, will I?"

Her eyes widened in outraged surprise at his defiant words and tone. But her grip eased, and the motion of her hand on his body suddenly changed form violent and threatening, to a softer, more enticing touch designed to prepare him for their union, rather than to ruin any chances of its occurring at all.

He did have a point.

Her words, however, were anything but arousing, as she leaned in close to his ear, timing her hushed, hypnotic words with the cadence of her motions.

"When this is over – and you are mine," she murmured in a low voice of chilling softness, a seduction not fitting to the threatening words she poured forth, "I'm gonna take you off someplace quiet – peaceful – and take my time with you, Baby – make you beg me to kill you – before I'm finished humiliating you – breaking you – I'll teach you what your true place is – you disgusting, worthless little whore…"

I love you, Spike – listen to me – focus on me, Sweetheart – they're nothing but words. She won't be able to touch you when this is all over…she'll be gone…and it'll just be you and me… Buffy's gentle, firm words of love and reassurance, though softly spoken, managed to drown out the terrifying threats and belittling insults the Slayer was pouring out.

Clearly, the age-old demon had no concept of male sexuality, if she thought for a moment that the things she was saying to him were in any way conducive to the sex act they had to perform in order for her ritual to take effect. If anything, the terrifying, chilling promises she was making to him would have been enough to make any man lose his desire.

Fortunately – Buffy did know what it took to arouse the desire of her mate, intimately; and though she hated the thought of his having to endure a physical union with this wicked creature, she knew that it had to happen, despite Spike's utter lack of desire for it to. He might have been able to trick his body into responding to the Slayer, without Buffy's help, if not for the vicious words coming out of the Slayer's mouth.

After all, it was Buffy's body she was using to perform the act – and a part of Spike could not help but respond to the beauty of his mate.

But at the moment, it might have been Buffy's body – but it was not Buffy.

Still, Buffy was determined to make this act as easy on her mate as possible – to do all she could to ease his pain, to make him feel as if it were her arms around him, her gentle touch caressing and cherishing him, in place of the cruel, ruthless, hurtful hands of his tormentor.

Willingly Buffy poured out sweet, tender words of reassurance and affection, to counteract the cruelty of the demon, mentally surrounding her mate with her love and devotion like a protective shield, as she whispered soft, loving words that somehow drowned out the Slayer's hate and abuse.

When this is over, Buffy promised, When she's bound again – gone – I'm going to take you somewhere – just you and me – and I'm going to make all of this up to you, Spike. I'm going to make all the pain and the fear, and the total badness of this night fade away into nothing but a distant memory…

I'm going to claim you again, to make you mine again, no one else's – and I'm going to let you claim me again, Spike – make me yours – mark me again so everyone will know…

It was at about that point that her words started to have their desired effect, as Spike willed himself to get lost in sweet thoughts of his Buffy, and what they would share once the Slayer demon was defeated.

The demon in question misunderstood completely – fortunately – believing that it was her own physical ministrations that were resulting in the evidence of Spike's desire. In reality, her touch was clumsy and too harsh, having no real experience with human sexuality, and would not have been effective under the best of circumstances.

But Buffy's words of love for him, the sensation of their emotional and mental connection, her warmth and affection surrounding him, could not fail to fill him with desire.

"Knew I could get you hot," the Slayer sneered into his ear, her voice derisive and mocking, and nearly having the exact opposite effect on Spike's body. "You like being put down? Treated like the worthless little piece of nothing that you are?"

Not worthless… Buffy's voice argued softly, firmly, with a touch of defensive anger for her mate that only served to increase his desire for her, filling him with a warmth and security that belied his current situation. …never worthless…amazing…incredible… gorgeous and perfect and mine…

The possessive little almost-growl on the last word did it.

The demon laughed, assuming that she had been right in her guess, that it had been her own sadistic work that had brought Spike to readiness for her – for of course, she had no way of knowing the truth of the matter.

Forcefully she plunged Buffy's body down onto Spike's, setting a pace that was grueling, painful and relentless considering the pitiful condition that the vampire was in at the moment. He could not suppress a choked little cry of pain, that only made her laugh and increase the speed and force of her movements.

Almost there, Spike…almost over…once this is done, you can have your revenge…and once she's gone… He could hear the smile in his mate's voice as she added enticingly, …you can have me…

Despite the pain, despite the helplessness and shame of his situation, Spike felt a faint smile rising to his lips at his mate's almost playful words. As the malicious creature above him moved on his body with cruelty and utter disregard for his pain or pleasure, he just closed his eyes, shutting out the sadistic, vindictive smile on her face, shutting out her vicious words and the abuse she was inflicting on him – focusing his attention instead on his mate, and her promise of what they would enjoy together once the Slayer's power had been returned to its rightful place, and was no longer able to wreak this havoc with their lives.

Lost in Buffy – lost to his oblivious tormentor, though she did not know it yet – Spike allowed the sweet words echoing in his mind to draw him to the edge of physical release, though he feared that when the Slayer attempted to stake her claim, he would not be able to carry through with it.

The very thought of her calling him "hers", attempting to bind him to her forever, was enough to kill the mood in an instant, as far as he was concerned.

Suddenly, he found himself wondering if what he had been taught about mating claims ever since he had been turned was really accurate.

Buffy's prior claim would render any claim the Slayer might try to make meaningless – wouldn't it?

Trust me – it's gonna be fine – you just have to say the words, Spike…it doesn't mean anything…

I know – it's just – what if…?

Spike – you belong to me…and I belong to you – and nothing she can do can change that, no matter what happens. Our bond will stand…

Physically, Spike could feel that he was very near the fulfillment of the act that was being forced upon him – and so was the Slayer above him. She lowered her mouth to hover over the badly battered mark Buffy had left on Spike's throat a few days earlier, that had been so viciously used to torture him this night. It was terribly sore and sensitive, from the burns and cuts she had inflicted on it earlier – and Spike held no misconceptions as to whether or not the Slayer's claiming bite would be painful.

Buffy… he began uncertainly, fighting back a slow building panic that started to come over him. Buffy…

I love you, Spike, she interrupted, reassuring him in a firm, intense voice, as he felt her love surrounding him, embracing him with a sense of security and safety. My Spike – my mate…my love…

"By your blood and our bond," the Slayer was speaking the words of her dominance claim, a possessive lust in her voice, as her cruel hands gripped his sore arms, pinning him down as she leaned in nearer to his throat, "I claim you and make you mine!"

Mine! Buffy declared in his head, in unison with the Slayer's spoken word, and yet powerful enough to obliterate the sound. Mine, forever, Spike…

"Yours," he whispered, his eyes closed, his response directed only to his mate.

But the Slayer did not know that.

She was gasping for breath, weary and spent from the union they had just completed, yet laughing in disbelieving triumph as she rose up off of him on trembling limbs.

"Yes!" she crowed, climbing off the bed and standing beside it, grinning down at the exhausted, brutalized, violated creature with cruel pleasure. "You're mine!"

Irritated by the harsh, grating interruption to the sweet comforting connection he was still experiencing with his actual mate, Spike ground out derisively, "Already established that, pet – didn't we? Let's not talk about it to the point of nausea."

Her smile faded in annoyance – but then widened again with realization. As she moved back toward him with dark purpose in her eyes, Spike winced inwardly.

You were right, love…shoulda just kept my bloody mouth shut…

I won't say I told you so…

Just did, pet…

"Shut up!" the Slayer snarled, smiling smugly, sure that he had no choice but to obey her command.

And in a way – he hadn't any choice.

Pleased with his immediate response to her order – or more accurately, his lack of a response – the Slayer smiled wickedly, grabbing him and dragging him off of the bed again, allowing him to fall weakly to the floor beside it, his back braced against the side of the mattress as he tried to gather what meager strength he had left, in order to face whatever horrible thing she no doubt had in mind for him.

Spike – Honey – stay with me here. We're almost there – but not quite – she's gonna try to test the claim… Buffy warned him softly but urgently.

Sure enough, the Slayer glared down at him, a speculative look in her dark, menacing eyes, as she ordered coldly, "On your knees."

Bloody sadistic bint…I'll kill her…

Spike – I hate it, too – but…

I know, he sighed wearily in defeat, both aloud and in his mind. No bloody choice…

He realized with alarm just how bad his condition really was, when he found the shift from leaning against the bed to kneeling, supporting himself, far more difficult than it should have been. But he forced himself to do it, fighting off a wave of dizziness that came over him at the movement.

Spike! Buffy's urgent voice momentarily drew his attention from the Slayer, circling him like a shark, cruel intent obvious in her eyes. Spike – Dawn's coming!

How do you know? he asked, feeling a sense of alarm at the thought.

I can feel her, Spike – she's a part of me – I'll explain it all later, but for now, just know she's coming! And we can't let her face the Slayer alone! She's helpless now!

"Maybe you ought to deadbolt the door," Spike said aloud, his voice weak and weary, his eyes downcast. "Just in case…Dawn's got a key."

The Slayer raised her eyebrows in surprise, stopping in her slow, even pacing to regard him suspiciously. "And you would warn me about that exactly why?"

Spike released a heavy, defeated sigh, swallowing hard as if in deep sorrow and emotional struggled, before replying softly, "Because I'd rather be able to spare her the pain of falling into your bloody hands, all right? I'd rather her not end up dealing with you first…you don't have to do anything, I'm just saying…" He shrugged listlessly, never once raising his eyes to meet hers.

She stood there for a moment, studying him intently – before turning and walking slowly to the door, fastening the deadbolt.

Buffy and Spike breathed a simultaneous, internal sigh of relief.

The Slayer was completely unaware of their reaction, smiling secretively as she returned to stand over him, a malicious expression on her face that sent a chill of apprehension down his spine.

"Looks like it worked," she smirked, crouching down beside him, reaching to run a deceptively gentle hand through his damp, tangled hair. "I know you wouldn't be on your knees to me unless it did." She paused. "Only one way to be sure though," she shrugged calmly.

Is there? he wondered with sudden alarm. A way to be sure?

Whatever she says, Spike, Buffy answered, her own voice in his mind betray8ing a certain anxiety and uncertainty. You have to do it – until she lets you drink…

"Drink."

Spike looked up at the Slayer, startled out of what had appeared to her to be nothing more than his own thoughts, his eyes widening with surprise. Surely it would not be this easy – was she already instructing him to drink from her, without benefit of testing his submission first?

But then, she shattered that brief, wild hope, with a simple nod of her head toward a small object in her hand. Spike looked down at her outstretched palm – and his stomach dropped dangerously.

It was a small glass bottle, matching perfectly the one she had earlier emptied onto his throat, searing his flesh with the caustic fluid it contained. He raised stunned, disbelieving eyes to hers, wide with fear and shock. The malicious smile on her lips told him the answer to the question reverberating in his mind.

Yes, she did mean it. She would make him do this.

Bloody hell.

The Slayer's hand in his hair remained gentle and almost affectionate a moment longer, as she pressed the tiny vial into his hand, holding his gaze with pitiless, unyielding determination in her cold smile.

"There's more than one way to shut you up, Baby," she said softly, suddenly tightening her hand in his hair just slightly, not quite hurting him, as she held his head back slightly and gave her terrible command again.

"Drink."


	71. Chapter 71

Spike stared at the tiny vial the Slayer had pressed into his hand, realizing with a sinking heart that he had little choice at this point.

If he refused to drink it, then she would know without a doubt that the whole ritual had been a fake, that he was not under her power – and he was not strong enough to fight her, not yet. She would kill him – and unwittingly, Buffy with him – and then proceed to kill Joyce and Dawn, and do whatever she wanted from that point.

Bloody hell, who knew what damage she could manage while in the disguise of Buffy's body, before anyone found out the truth? And even if by some chance her Watcher or her friends did manage to find out that the Slayer demon had won – in the brief moments before she no doubt killed them as well – how would they be able to stop her?

That was if he did not drink the holy water in the vial.

But – if he did drink it….

Spike…I can't ask you to do this…

We have no choice, Buffy…

It'll kill you! And then, she wins anyway, Spike! It's not worth it; we have a better chance trying to fight her…

We have no chance trying to fight her, he argued sharply. Buffy in case you hadn't noticed I'm a bit under the weather at the moment…can't find the bloody strength to stand, let alone take on a Slayer…besides, he added, his tone softening slightly, taking on a note of grim resignation, won't kill me – not enough in that little bottle. Just – just hurt like soddin' hell.

Oh, Spike…

He could hear the sorrow, the regret in her voice in his mind, could sense the thoughts and feelings she was experiencing, reminding her of how he would not be going through this, any of this, right now, if not for her terrible agreement, in the beginning, to Giles' plan to bring Spike "under her control" – to take a creature already helpless and further violate his dignity and free will.

And the whole thing had been so utterly, completely unnecessary and destructive.

…I'm so sorry…

Spike did not respond, had no words to make her feel better, but didn't have the heart to make her feel worse, even by speaking the truth.

It was her fault.

But it didn't matter now. The whole mental conversation had taken place in a matter of moments, and he knew that he had to obey the Slayer's command, now. Any further hesitation, and it would not matter if he obeyed her or not; she would know that he was obeying by choice, and not because he had no choice. And she had to believe that the dominance ritual had succeeded.

Had to – if she was going to allow him to feed from her, under the guise of getting his strength back up so that he could kill Buffy's family for her.

If they were going to have any chance of defeating her.

Forcing the panic and dread to the back of his mind, Spike made himself not think about it, gripping the tiny bottle and tipping it to his lips, pouring it down his throat with no visible hesitation. He cringed in anticipation of the searing, burning pain that the fluid would cause, in his throat, his stomach, all through his body.

But it never came.

The Slayer's wicked, mocking laugh next to him sent a chill down his spine – and shudders of relief all through him. He dropped the empty bottle to the floor, leaning forward to brace himself on his hands, as his knees no longer seemed steady enough to hold him up. Relief mingled with the terror he had made himself repress, and he gasped for breath, feeling as if he couldn't stop shaking.

The bottle had been emptied and refilled -- with ordinary tap water.

It's okay…oh, God, it's okay! Buffy whispered in his head, her mental voice sounding breathless and relieved and nearly as overwhelmed as he felt. It's all right…you're gonna be all right, Spike…it was just a test – and you passed it…now we just have to…

"Now that," the Slayer smirked, gasping herself as she managed to regain control from her insane giggles of amusement that had her doubled over with laughter, and bring herself back up to face him, crouching in front of where he knelt on the floor, "was funny!"

Spike raised his head slowly again to glare at her, murder in his gleaming golden eyes – not even realizing that he had changed. Her cruel, cavalier attitude, her pleasure in the fearful mind games she was playing with him – her vicious intentions toward him and all those he loved – it was all just too much.

He wanted her dead.

Spike might not have noticed his instinctive change to his game face – but the Slayer did.

Her laughter faded suddenly, her eyes narrowing in anger at his perceived challenge. Slowly, glittering feral green eyes focused on his face, she rose to her feet in front of him. A cruel smile slid over her usually pretty features, twisted into an ugly sneer of menace and vindictive hatred.

She suddenly gripped his hair and yanked his head back, hard, exposing his ravaged throat in a forced submissive posture, as she said softly, warningly, "You think you can take me on, Sweetheart?" There was a deceptive calm, almost affectionate, in her voice – but it nevertheless sent a chill down his spine. "You wanna try?"

Bloody soddin' hell, you have no idea how much! he thought, not daring to say the words out loud -- not yet.

The Slayer still had the gun -- and could change her mind and decide that he wasn't worth the trouble at any moment, if he made her angry enough; it was still possible that she could simply opt to kill Dawn and Joyce herself. And as things were, there would be little that Spike could do to stop her.

True, he had figured out during the past few days that this particular demon was cowardly, preferring her victims bound, helpless, and utterly incapable of presenting any actual threat to her -- an enigma to him, that such a creature should be the source of the Slayer's power. She saw it as a risk, to think of going after Dawn, even with the gun, lest the girl should catch her off guard and push her back down again before she could stop her.

But that did not mean she would not lose her temper, kill him now, and then be forced to take that miniscule risk -- if Spike pushed her too far.

He closed his eyes, swallowing back the sharp, hateful retort he desperately wanted to give her, steeling himself to force himself to reply as he knew he had to -- for now.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head as much as her grip would allow. "No -- I'm sorry..."

His submission seemed to appease her, for the moment, because after a few tense seconds, she released her grip on his hair, relenting as she walked slowly away from him, across the room.

"Good," she said softly. "Because this whole torturing you thing -- fun at first...but it gets old fast."

Spike wanted to kill her -- not quickly. A violent, bloody, horrific death to rival any he had ever dealt out before -- except...

The fact remained that she was in Buffy's body.

He sighed inwardly. In spite of his anger, his rage at the abuses and indignities he had suffered, when the moment of his vindication came, he was going to have to keep himself under control. After all, this was Buffy's body he was dealing with; he was going to have to do his best to get her to submit, with as little damage as he could manage – and all this while his demon was screaming, raging, for aw much damage as possible.

The whole thing just had to be handled very carefully.

He just stayed there on his knees for the moment, waiting for her to make her next move, not turning to look at her as she paced slowly toward the door, an odd smile that he didn't see creeping across her face.

An instant later, he was caught off guard as the Slayer was suddenly crouched behind him again, one arm wrapping around his shoulders to pull him back against her. He forced himself not to pull away from her, though her close, intimate touch made him feel sick to his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to jerk himself out of her hated embrace.

He knew that he was not strong enough to break her grip, anyway, and provoking her at this point would accomplish nothing.

Her hushed, taunting voice near his ear sent a shudder down his spine. "We've got company, Baby. Little sis is trying to get in."

Spike's eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a moment's alarm. Of course, he had already known that Dawn was approaching, because Buffy had sensed it, and told him. But how did the Slayer know, without the benefit of Buffy's thoughts and feelings to inform her? Was it possible that she was somehow clued into the connection between them?

He glanced over his shoulder at her in apprehensive question, and she smiled wickedly. "Weren't gonna tell me, were ya, Sweetie?" she whispered, shaking her head slightly in mock reproof. "I know you knew before I did – vampire senses and all…"

Spike felt a tremendous sense of relief as he realized that she was still oblivious to Buffy's absence in her own head, and the connection that he shared with her. But, if that was the case…

"Well, how'd you figure it out, then?" he asked, keeping his voice low so as to keep Dawn from hearing, if she was right outside the door, as the Slayer had indicated.

Really, at this point, it would be best if Dawn just thought he and Buffy were asleep, and went back to her own room for the rest of the night. At this point, she was nothing more than the helpless girl she appeared to be, and her entering this scene right now could only result in disaster.

"She tried the door," the Slayer smirked. "Then she tried her key. Good thing you told me to deadbolt the door, huh, Baby?" There was just a hint of dark anger in her voice, but Spike felt his heart flip over in fear as she grabbed his hair with her free hand, and turned his head to the side so that his wounded throat was exposed to her as she added, "And that helpful little suggestion is the only reason I'm not ripping your throat out as we speak."

A cold, sick sense of fear washed over him at the thought. At this point, he honestly was not sure if he could take any more abuse – and the knowledge that Dawn was now in danger, just outside the door, made him feel even more helpless and frustrated. What if the Slayer decided not to wait? To just take her chances and do away with the girl herself?

Stay calm, Buffy urged him gently. Hang on, Sweetheart…almost there…

"Well," the Slayer said softly, releasing his hair to place her palm on his forehead, pushing his head back to rest on her shoulder. "I suppose we'd better get this done…she might think we're asleep at first – but she'll be suspicious now, finding the door bolted.

She paused, leaning in closer to whisper with a cruel smile, "It's time for Dawnie to die, Baby."

There was a cruel, taunting sound to her voice, telling Spike that she enjoyed reminding him of the fact that she was about to force him to kill the girl he loved like a sister,the woman who was like a second mother to him.

The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that whatever she believed to be true – she could not force him to do anything.

"Change," she ordered in a cool, hard voice, believing that he had no choice but to obey her.

He did obey, allowing his human features to give way to his vampiric face, his fangs itching to pierce the Slayer's soft flesh and drain her of the hot, life-giving fluid now pumping through her veins. After all she had done to him, his demon cried out for vengeance against her, to sate himself on her blood and leave her nothing but a torn, bloodied carcass.

Except – the body he was imagining tearing into with such ferocious vengeance was the body of his mate.

His conflicting emotions warred within him, as she arched the bronze pillar of her neck toward him, pushing his head nearer to her exposed skin, but tangling her fist in his hair, easily holding the weakened vampire back from the bite she knew he craved.

"You want it?" she asked in a low, enticing voice. "You want to bite me, Spike?"

He did not respond, aware that she was mocking him, baiting him, wanted to make him beg for it – but he would not. Oh, if he had to, to get her to allow it at all, he would – but he knew that he would not have to.

The Slayer needed him to bite her as badly as he needed it – and she was quickly running out of time.

"Oh, come on," she sneered softly, "you know you do – and you will," she added, her voice becoming serious, her darkened jade gaze focusing on his feral golden eyes. "But you will stop the moment I tell you to. You will not seek to harm me – only to gain the nourishment you need. You will be careful not to cause me any pain or weaken me too severely. Is that clear?"

By her tone, Spike knew that she thought she was giving him an undeniable command, and he nodded slowly, not willing to make her think otherwise.

The Slayer nodded, satisfied, releasing her grip on his hair and ordering softly, "Drink."

Spike didn't need to be told twice.

But he did need to be cautious.

He had to do his best to make the bite painless, to appear not to be as incredibly eager as he was to sink his fangs into her flesh – at least until she was too weak to do anything about it.

As she gently pushed his head nearer to her throat – her gentleness more for her own sake than for his – he opened his mouth, poising his fangs over the marks he had left on her throat earlier. The claim he had made had a powerful physical effect on his mate's body, as well as her heart and mind. He knew that if he bit Buffy on his mark, the sensation of physical pleasure could be intense, if he intended for her to feel pleasure from his bite.

He only hoped that the effect on Buffy's body would be the same without Buffy in it.

If he could manage to keep the Slayer "distracted", without breaking her command about not hurting her, long enough to weaken her through blood loss – allowing himself a bit of precious recovery time to allow her potent blood to kick in – then he and Buffy, his Buffy, just might have a chance.

But there was no time to consider, no time to plan and debate. The Slayer had issued a command, and to keep up the ruse, he had to obey – and quickly.

Pushing his fears from his mind, he focused on what he had to do – and his true mate, whose body this was before him.

I love you, Buffy, he whispered to her in his mind.

I love you, Spike, she replied in a calm voice without hesitation. Do it.

Without another instant's hesitation, Spike lowered his fangs to the Slayer's throat for the crucial bite.


	72. Chapter 72

Dawn made her way slowly down the hallway toward the room where Spike and Buffy were hopefully sleeping…or…possibly not sleeping… That thought almost made her turn around and go back to her own room. The thought of walking in on her sister and her best friend doing it was not exactly appealing. Still, she made herself go on.

At this point, Dawn would be satisfied as long as they weren't in the process of killing each other.

Witnessing any other "processes" might scar her for life – but at least she would know that the two people nearest to her heart, with the exception of her mother, were safe.

All in all, she was almost sure that it would be worth the indelible mental images she would carry with her for the rest of her life, just to be sure that Spike and Buffy were both unharmed.

She stopped outside the door of the room, trying to look through the thick, heavy curtains into the room beyond them, for some sign of what might be going on inside. Unfortunately, the drapes were too thick to reveal anything, and they were tightly drawn, leaving no cracks through which to look. She could see nothing inside the room at all. She couldn't even tell if any lights were on or not.

She stopped and stood in front of the door, drawing in a deep breath in preparation. She so did not want to interrupt her sister and Spike.

What if nothing was wrong? How humiliating would that be?

But deep down – Dawn knew that that was not the case. She could not quite put her finger on it – Spike and Buffy had both told her that everything was fine – but somehow she just knew that something was terribly wrong.

She desperately hoped that she was the one who was wrong.

She considered knocking, but then decided against it. If they were sleeping, she did not want to wake them; and if something bad really was happening on the other side of that door, knocking would give the Slayer time to attempt to hide it, and possibly put Spike in greater danger.

Maybe if she just quietly opened the door a crack and peeked in…

If they were asleep, they would never even know that she had been there. Of course, that line of action held the risk of embarrassing them all very badly if Buffy and Spike were not asleep, and nothing was wrong at all – but it also gave her the element of surprise, if Spike was in trouble. Quietly, cautiously, she tried the handle.

It didn't turn.

She took out the key card she had placed in her pocket, regarding it with resignation. It was a bit more conspicuous, more likely to be heard from inside, then her careful turning of the knob – but it seemed to be a necessary risk. She really had no other options at this point. She slid the card into the slot as quietly as possible, hearing a faint click as she slowly edged the door open.

Or at least -- tried to.

The door did not budge, either.

She frowned, looking up and down at the door that was somehow a more formidable barrier than she had expected, trying again to push it open, a bit harder this time, though still with no success. She wondered for a moment why the key didn't seem to be working – but – the knob was turning, so the key was obviously still working properly…

Suddenly, she understood why the door would not move, and yet the handle turned, remembering the deadbolt she had had to unlock on her own room door before coming out here. But – why would Buffy have given her a key to the room, if she was only going to bolt the door so that she could not get in, anyway?

The answer was frighteningly simple.

Buffy wouldn't.

Spike would not have been so thoughtless and foolish as to deadbolt the door, no matter what raunchy new Sex Olympics sport they were inventing – so that left only one option as to who might have wanted the door bolted – and it was an option she didn't even want to consider.

Her heart pounded in her chest with sudden fear, her mind racing as she tried to decide what to do. She was no Slayer; if the door was deadbolted, she knew better than to think that she would be able to get into the room on her own.

She could go down to the front desk and try to get the manager to come up and let her into the room – surely the hotel staff would have keys to the deadbolts…But…how could she convince them to do it? There was no audible sound from the room, no indication of any actual trouble.

The hotel manager would probably just think she was a nosy little sister trying to give her sister and her boyfriend a hard time.

The only other conceivable way of getting into the room – was simply to knock, and hope that the Slayer would let her in, perhaps attempting to maintain the façade of actually beign her sister – so that she could help Buffy regain control.

But – what if in so doing, she somehow managed to place Spike in a more dangerous situation? She really had no idea whatsoever of what was going on behind that door. The Slayer demon that was quite possibly in control of her sister at the moment was not exactly a stable personality; she was violent, and cruel, and easily angered – and therefore absolutely unpredictable.

Dawn just stood there for a long moment, trying to hear any sound from beyond the door, trying desperately to determine what she should do – painfully aware that as she stood there in clueless indecision, the precious seconds ticked by, quite likely bringing her friend and her sister to their destruction.

Spike's razor sharp fangs slid easily through the soft flesh of the Slayer's throat, and he slowly drew in a mouthful of the hot, rich fluid that flowed through her veins – taking his time, allowing the taste to fill his mouth before swallowing it down, relishing the feeling of strength and power that washed through him at the first taste of the potent Slayer's blood.

He had to make himself go slowly, he reminded himself – had to give the blood time to work in his system. By the time she would become alarmed at the amount he was taking and try to make him stop – he wanted to be strong enough to hold his own against her.

If he was careful, he could use the mark his fangs were currently marking again to drive the Slayer to a place of pleasure where she would not even notice how much blood he was taking – would not notice the increase in his strength, or the waning of her own – until it was too late for her to do anything about it.

Her dominance ritual had failed; the only power she held over him at the moment was through her superior strength and better physical condition at the moment – which was only a result of the brutal torture she had just put him through.

He drew slightly harder the second time, allowing his fangs to slide partially out of the pierced flesh, then slowly back in, and the Slayer gasped at the pleasurably painful sensation as his natural weapons grazed against her sensitive, injured flesh. Spike felt her arms clutching him tighter, holding him to her as she arched her neck to give him better access.

He fought off an instinctive sense of panic at the restrictive arms that held him, fought the impulse to either attempt to break away right then – which would have been utterly useless – or to draw hard on the blood flowing from her throat right then, to quickly snatch from her the strength he needed to rid his violated, degraded body of her hated touch, and break free of her forever.

But that was too risky.

He couldn't take a chance of making her panic and push him away before he was strong enough to keep her from doing so. Besides – everything was going according to plan. He was slowly but steadily weakening her, and the pleasure of his bite filled her body and mind so thoroughly that she appeared to have no thought whatsoever of making him stop.

"Harder," she gasped, one hand rising to the back of his head and pressing his head down demandingly against her neck.

Resentful of her dominant, demeaning behavior, and the cruelty he had suffered at her hands already this night, Spike was more than happy to oblige. As he drew hard from her throat, pulling her sweet, hot blood into his mouth and swallowing it down in great, greedy gulps, she moaned softly in pleasure.

"Spike!" she gasped. "Spike, yes! More!"

His rough lips pressed against the ivory column of her throat, Spike smiled a wicked smile around his fangs, as he began to feel the injuries she had dealt him that night beginning to heal – cuts closing up, burns fading away, as a renewed sense of strength and a sharp awareness cut through the fog of pain and fear that had closed in on him the moment he had awakened to find himself naked and chained to the Slayer's bed – more vulnerable than he had ever been in his entire existence.

With a growl of menace and challenge, his arms shot out at his sides to break the Slayer's loveless embrace, and he gripped her arms and pushed her down to the floor under him, before she had time to react or protest. Her eyes widened in shock and alarm as she suddenly realized what was happening, and did try to push him off of her – but it was too late by now.

Spike's strength exceeded hers now, and he easily held her down, his fangs latched into her throat, unrelenting. She fought uselessly to break his grip, letting out a sharp little cry as he drew another long draught of her blood from her veins and into his own body.

He was no longer taking care to make the experience pleasurable for her.

Before she could make another sound, one of his hands moved to cover her mouth tightly, at the same time tilting her head and allowing him better access to her throat. Her eyes were wide and full of panic as her free hand slapped ineffectually, with ever-weakening movements, at the increasingly powerful vampire, drawing her ever nearer to the edge of unconsciousness.

Go ahead, Buffy encouraged him in his head. It'll give us more time…

That was all the permission Spike needed, as his concerns about hurting his mate's body were soothed by her decisive direction to do just that. She wanted him to do this.

He drew back fro a moment, golden feral eyes meeting her wide, terrified emerald gaze, as he smiled with wicked glee, leaning in close to her ear to whisper his next words with a chilling menace of triumph.

"Say goodnight, Slayer."

Her eyes widened further with realization, as he plunged his fangs into his mark again with a feral snarl, drawing another hard pull of blood from her body – enough to send her crashing into the blackness of unconsciousness.

Dawn's eyes widened on the other side of the door, but she felt a sense of relief at the sound of her sister's voice, moaning Spike's name, urging him on to more. It was incredibly disturbing to hear the desire in Buffy's voice, to know what she and her best friend were doing on the other side of that door – but not quite as disturbing as the almost animalistic noises she heard coming from both Buffy and the vampire in the next moment.

Was Spike growling?

And then – the sounds that her sister was making…

Gross, Buffy! Dawn thought, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the door and headed back down the hall to her own room, satisfied that her worries had been for nothing.

Buffy and Spike were simply having loud, obnoxious sex – in the middle of what was probably the most dangerous, traumatic time of all of their lives.

That's brilliant, Dawn thought to herself with annoyance. Way to prioritize, Buffy!

Still, she felt a tremendous sense of relief and satisfaction as she walked back into her own motel room. She would be able to sleep now; she had heard enough to put her mind at ease.

Much more than enough, actually, she corrected in her mind with a sigh, as she climbed back into the bed next to her mother's and drifted off to sleep.

Spike locked the chains that had been used to bind him tightly around the Slayer's wrists, then allowed her limp arms to drop back down onto the bed, before moving toward the foot of the bed to make sure her ankles were secured as well.

She had been out for nearly twenty minutes already – long enough for Spike to get her back into her clothes, and securely restrained – though the chains were not nearly as cruelly tight as she had made them when she had used them on him. She was unconscious, and restrained, and incapable of doing any more damage to him – therefore no further damage was necessary to be done to her at the moment.

Though his demon still screamed out in a rage that told him it felt otherwise.

He stared down at the peaceful, sleeping face that had twisted in rage and violence as she had tortured him so viciously, violated him without pity or compassion – remembering other moments, when that same face had smiled at him with love and affection, or gazed at him through wide, tear-filled eyes full of sorrow and sympathy.

His tormentor, enemy, lover, and dearest friend – all rolled into one.

It was bloody mind-boggling.

Suddenly, despite the Slayer's blood singing through his veins with a vibrancy and strength he had not felt since Buffy had claimed him – Spike was utterly exhausted. He allowed himself to fall back into the chair beside the bed, leaning his head back against the back of it and closing his eyes as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath that was part relief, and part…well, part…

There was just no word for what he was feeling at that moment, the pain and confusion and love and concern and guilt and fear and relief, all rolled into one great big overwhelming thing, until he was half afraid that he was losing his bloody mind.

We did it, Spike, Buffy's gentle whispered reassurance in his mind was comforting – almost too comforting, when his emotions were so on edge as it was. It's over.

Not yet, it's not…close…but not quite, Slayer.

Something in the curt, sharp tone of his thoughts, and the unconscious use of her title, struck Buffy as odd, sending a cold little shiver of hurt and apprehension through her heart.

Spike?

He sighed heavily. When they were this close, it was impossible for him not to know the emotional effect his response had had on her.

Sorry, pet, he thought immediately. Don't mind me – had a bit of a rough bloody night is all – and it ain't over yet. Even if she hadn't known him far too well to believe him completely, the slight tremor on the end of his words as he thought of what was still to come this night revealed his emotions to her.

Spike…

The tenderness, the apology and sympathy in the whispered word was almost more than he could bear.

"Don't," he whispered aloud, his voice choked with emotion. "Don't, Buffy…"

But she already had.

In the next instant, he felt an overwhelming sense of love, safety, a warmth and reassurance that his ravaged heart and body craved desperately, after this night of horror and pain, as Buffy deliberately revealed the depth of her love for him, her gratitude for the sacrifice he had made, wrapping her love around him like a warm, comforting, shielding blanket.

I love you so much, she whispered, the words intent, earnest and sincere. You have no idea, Spike…I don't think I did…until tonight. I love you.

He did return her sentiments, in his heart – he did. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to respond – not now. His emotions were too jumbled, too confused and raw and painful, for him to even begin to try to respond. He sat forward in his seat, his elbows on the table in front of him, and his head resting in his hands.

Buffy – Buffy… he tried to reply, but all he could manage was her name.

And in the next instant, though her body was chained to the bed, immobile – thankfully – it was as if he could feel her warm arms wrap around him in tenderness and comfort, could hear her soft, understanding voice whispering to him softly.

It's okay, Spike…it's okay…let it go…

Her tender embrace, her gentle words, were the key to unlock the floodgate of his emotions, and he collapsed over the table – though with his eyes closed, surrounded by the love of his mate, he felt as if he was in Buffy's arms.

He knew that the night was far from over. In a few short minutes, most likely, judging by typical Slayer stamina, the Slayer would be awakening, and he and Buffy would need to complete the plan they had developed. His work was not yet through, though he felt safe in saying that the worst was most definitely over – at least, he bloody well hoped so!

He knew that there was more to be done, that he could not lose it completely – not yet. But for now, the Slayer was still unconscious on the bed, and Buffy's embrace surrounded him, and he was free to do as she gently advised and simply attempt to let go of the agony and fear and shameful vulnerability of the past few hellish hours.

To all appearances alone – and yet, not at all – Spike lowered his head into his arms on the table, feeling the invisible arms of his mate around him, as he gave vent to his emotions – and wept.


	73. Chapter 73

For a few brief minutes, Spike just sat there, allowing the warmth and comfort of Buffy's mental and emotional touch to soothe the agony of pain and violation that stayed with him, despite the fact that the Slayer's attack was over, and she could never hurt him again. Somehow, it seemed to cling to him, covering him and making him feel uncertain, ashamed, and vulnerable.

It's all right, Buffy told him gently in his mind. It's okay…she can't hurt you anymore…

Her tender words, the indescribable sensation of her love that he felt like a physical presence, went a long way toward soothing the hurt of the past few hours and days. He just let it wash over him, surrounding him and reassuring him, reminding him that though the creature on the bed wore his mate's body – it was not his mate who had done those things to him.

Still, though he would not have told Buffy so – he was glad that at the moment, it was only her psyche, not her physical body, that was touching him, holding him so intimately.

As much as it troubled him, the thought of her physically touching him at the moment made him feel very sick.

All too soon, Spike was drawn, unwillingly, from the soft, safe embrace of his lover's heart, by the harsh, angry sound of the Slayer's voice.

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you, Baby?" she sneered, her voice dripping with hatred and defiance. "Think you've won?"

"Think I'm gonna," Spike corrected her with grim certainty, raising his head from the table and regarding the helpless Slayer with cold, impassive eyes. "Soon enough, pet."

Her dark jade eyes flashed fire in her anger at his words, as she yanked uselessly against the chains that held her. "I don't know how you managed to get around the dominance claim…" she declared, "…don't know how you're doing this – but I'm gonna figure it out, and I'm gonna make you wish…"

"Save the threats, Slayer," Spike cut her off sharply, rising from his chair and advancing slowly toward the bed. "I've heard 'em all the first time around, in case you've forgotten. And besides – it's not like there's that much to bloody figure out, anyway. Let me save you the time and effort, pet."

He paused, stopping beside the bed, meeting her eyes with cool, calm triumph in his own, as he relished the beautiful truth he was telling her.

"You're not going to do anything to me, pet – because you can't. Your whole soddin' ritual – bottom line is – it's bloody useless as far as I'm concerned. There is no way in soddin' hell that you will ever be able to bring be under your control – because I'm already bound by another claim. A stronger claim."

She laughed derisively, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked him up and down in a way that still made him shudder inwardly. "Whose claim?" she demanded incredulously.

He looked at her for a moment as if she were incredibly stupid. "Buffy's," he replied finally, in a slow, patient voice.

The Slayer's eyes widened, and she frowned slightly, clearly confused.

Spike was more than happy to clarify things for her.

"Should have studied up on claims a bit, pet, before you started trying to initiate one. Should've known what you were getting into before you were into it. Buffy claimed me as her mate – not as a slave or minion or anything less than her equal partner. And that kind of claim is binding – permanent. No other claim can wipe it out. You and no one else can claim me, ever," Spike informed her with unmistakable triumph in his voice.

"So it looks like all your efforts were wasted, pet. Too bad. Just when things were starting to get interesting, you turn out to be a bloody boring failure."

His smug grin was infuriating to her. With an angry growl, the Slayer jerked against the chains that held her, in a vain attempt to get to him, malice and hatred obvious in her feral eyes – which at the moment, held no trace of his mate, the Buffy that he loved.

"Maybe I can't claim you – maybe you're right," she conceded after a moment, her voice trembling with defensive anger. "But you still can't stop me – not for good. I'm still in this body, and you have no way of kicking me out. What are you gonna do? Leave your precious Buffy all chained up constantly?"

"No," Spike replied immediately, his voice calm and clear. "We're gonna kick you out, love. Send you back where you came from – where you can't do any more damage to anyone – 'cept of course the monsters Buffy fights each night, once you're locked away safe and she's got her normal Slayer powers back..."

"You mean my powers back!" the Slayer snapped, her eyes flashing with resentment and anger.

Spike shrugged, seemingly careless about the whole affair. "Whatever."

A harsh, bitter laugh left the Slayer's lips at that. "Good luck!" she scoffed, rolling her eyes before looking him up and down in a derisive, suggestive leer that sent a shudder down his spine, in spite of his determination not to let her get to him. "The way I understand this whole thing – the only way you can get me out of Buffy's body and locked away again is to complete the dominance ritual, and win. And I know what's at stake – my freedom – my very existence as I know it."

She shook her head, meeting his eyes with determination and bold defiance as she declared, "I'll never submit to you!"

"You might be surprised, pet," Spike countered softly, to his credit, not showing the effect she was having on him. A cold smile came over his lips as he added in a voice of chilling menace, "I think you'll find I can be every bit as bloody persuasive as you can be!"

"Please!" the Slayer sneered. "You think you can just torture me into submission? Sorry, but I have one little advantage that you didn't have while I was cutting your severely lacking body to pieces and finding out just how long you could be exposed to open flame without catching on fire!"

Spike tried not to visibly flinch at the cruel mockery in her voice, reminding him in vivid detail of the things she had done to him; he just stood there quietly, listening calmly as she went on.

"If I don't happen to care for the show -- I don't have to stick around for it! I can just let your little Buffy out again, let her take control – and just hide out for awhile, until you're done with your little torture scene – until you think you're safe…"

She paused again, a triumphant, mocking smile on her face when Spike looked away, though only for an instant, before forcing himself to hold her gaze firmly.

"I don't know how you feel about torturing your own mate – some guys are into that kind of thing – but at any rate, I don't think it'd be very effective," she finished with a little smirk. "You can try to make me submit -- if you can even make me stick around long enough!"

Much to the Slayer's surprise, Spike's response to her words was a soft, ironic laugh.

"And that would be the question of the hour, wouldn't it, pet?" he mused softly, edging nearer to her, his eyes focused on hers. "Can I make you stay, long enough to drive you out, at least? Again, pet – you really don't seem to have the first bloody clue as to what's actually going on around here."

She frowned, bothered by his calm, dispassionate response to what she had thought was a very clever, very reasonable threat.

"I think you might have a bit of difficulty getting Buffy to come back to the surface – seeing how she'd have to be in there in the first place to come out – wouldn't you think?" His eyes narrowed in a look of cold, smug certainty, as he came to stand directly at her side, near the head of the bed.

For the first time since waking, the Slayer appeared to actually be a bit frightened. "What are you talking about?" he demanded sharply. "What do you mean, she's not in here? How could she not be?"

"What's the matter?" Spike taunted her in a low, soft voice, holding her gaze with a look of challenge as he leaned over her. "You almost sound as if you don't like the idea…I thought that's what you wanted -- that pretty little body all to yourself – isn't it?"

"It's not possible!" the Slayer shook her head, her eyes wide, frowning slightly in thought as she looked away from him. "Is – is the little girl dead?" she asked suddenly, looking back up at him with a cruelly hopeful smile. "Because that would solve a lot of my problems!"

Spike's breathtaking backhand across her face took her by surprise, knocking her head back against the headboard, as he braced his hands on the bed on either side of her, leaning down to glare at her, furious, glittering golden eyes inches from her own.

"She's alive and well," he informed her in a low voice of barely restrained anger. "And she's going to stay that way. You'll never touch her!"

A slow smile crept over the Slayer's face, even as her tongue darted out at the side of her mouth to lick the blood from the spot where his hand had broken her flesh.

"Touchy," she said in a softly taunting parody of concern. "Easy, Baby – you wouldn't wanna damage Buffy's body too badly. You know – for whenever she decides to come back from – wherever she is – and get back in it."

"Oh, don't worry – she hasn't gone far," Spike murmured with a chilling little smile of amusement, his eyes glittering with malicious glee. "And you know – at this point – I don't think I'd have quite the problem with damaging her body I once would have had. Once, like say, oh -- before 'her body' got its rocks off torturing and raping me for the past few hours!"

The expression on the Slayer's face at his words was a mixture of cruel satisfaction at the painful emotions still too evident in his face and voice – and a rising apprehension at the vengeful menace that was also clear in the vampire's eyes – and swiftly overwhelming the pain and vulnerability that joined it there.

"Anyway," Spike went on in a quiet, frighteningly restrained voice, "it's not as if Buffy'll feel it. She's not even in there at the moment. You're all alone, little Slayer. And judging by the first impression – bloody hell, the only impression – you've made on me thus far, I'd wager to say you don't do so well at handling the pain and suffering yourself."

He shrugged carelessly, his expression showing little of the gratification he felt when she broke his gaze, looking away.

Apparently – he was right.

"Understandable," he mused in a casual tone. "You spend most of your existence noncorporeal, physical sensations such as pain must seem a bit more intense than they do to creatures like me."

Without warning, he interrupted his own words to punctuate them with a harsh blow with his fist to her ribcage, and she jerked against her bonds as she reflexively doubled over – as much as was possible, at least.

"That," Spike went on calmly, as she groaned softly in pain and tried to catch her breath, "and the fact that you're a bleedin' pansy."

"You let me out of these chains," she challenged him through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with rage – and not a little fear, "and I'll show you what a pansy I am!"

"Yeah," Spike scoffed. "So long as you can get me in them first, right, pet? You seem to prefer fights you know you can't lose. I knew a bloke like that once." He smiled coldly, a sort of nostalgic smile for times he would rather not remember.

"Yeah," he affirmed, after a moment's consideration. "Definitely a bleedin' pansy."

"You aren't gonna win this! I can take whatever you dish out!" she insisted, her voice sounding slightly out of control with her fear, despite her bold words. "I don't care what you do to me, Spike – I'll never accept your dominance!"

His smile softened in a menacing way, as he leaned in nearer to her, so near that his now-covered chest brushed slightly against hers as he met her eyes unflinchingly.

"Easy to say now," he murmured, his eyes slowly traveling down from hers, down the column of her throat, and beyond, before moving back up to meet her gaze again, "before I've even touched you."

She had no response – but he could smell the Slayer's fear – see it in her eyes. He had hit the nail on the head with his earlier assessment. This particular demon was not accustomed to having a human body, and could probably not tolerate pain very well.

That was good. It meant he would have to do less actual damage to Buffy's body to yield the same results.

It was good, he reminded his own demon, still clamoring for vengeance against her.

"Here's what I think, pet," Spike went on softly, his hands moving slowly to rest at her waist, further restraining her. She bucked uselessly against his grip, but couldn't budge him, as he continued.

"I think you won't last two minutes without having Buffy to hide behind."

Frustrated at her helplessness, increasing filled with fear, the Slayer let out a little growl of anger and desperation.

"Where is she?" she demanded, glaring up at him. "What have you done? How can she not be in this body?"

Spike was silent for a long moment, considering.

Go ahead.

He could hear the glee, the triumphant vindication in his mate's voice in his head, and knew that she wanted to see the look on the Slayer's face as much as he did, when she heard the truth of what they had done.

Go on, Buffy urged him eagerly. Tell her.

"Simple, pet," Spike replied with a little shrug, looking down for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

"Because she's in this one."


	74. Chapter 74

The Slayer's wide, disbelieving eyes stared at Spike for a long, silent moment, as she tried to process what he had just said.

From the blank look of incomprehension she was giving him at the moment – clearly, it wasn't quite sinking in.

"But – how…what…?" she stammered, obviously confused. "How is that possible?"

"Funny, pet – your fighting her so hard – pushing her back and trying so bloody hard to control her body – the fact that you two have been gradually merging, you've been slowly combining so to speak made her a bit – well, disconnected – from her own body – and that only made it easier, once she and I were linked anyway by the mutual mating claim, to – well – to take that bond with me one step further."

"I'm not too clear on the specifics myself," he admitted finally with a shrug and a disarming smile. "I just know because of the bloody weirdness going on with you and her sharing the same body and the new closeness between her and me 'cause of our completed mating claim – together, those things made it easier for her to jump ship and join me in my body for a bit."

She just stared at him for a moment, incredulous, obviously not sure whether to believe him or not – seemingly unable to find word to respond.

The story did sound bloody insane, he had to admit. He wasn't sure he would have believed it himself, if he hadn't known beyond all doubt that it was absolutely true.

"Say I believe you," she said slowly, searching his eyes uncertainly. "Say she is in your body with you instead of in this one – what good does that little stunt do you two, anyway? Why would you want to do that? I mean – isn't that kind of just…"

"Giving you exactly what you wanted in the first place?" Spike finished for her, nodding his concession to her point that, no, it did not seem to make sense. "Seems that way, don't it? When you don't look at the whole bloody picture."

"First off, pet," he began to explain, "that whole annoying little problem you mentioned of my having to be careful what I do to you, for fear of hurting Buffy?" He shrugged. "Not so much a problem this way. You can't retreat, either; you've got to stick around and either submit to me, or suffer the consequences."

"Secondly," he went on with a smirk, "when you do concede defeat – which you will, pet – there's no denying who's submitting to me – no way of cosmically getting around it because of sharing that body you're submitting with Buffy – because – you aren't sharing a body with her at the moment!"

He paused for a moment, considering his words, before he went on, "See – because of our mating claim, the dominance ritual shouldn't have any effect on Buffy anyway – but the way things were, you two duking it out in there for control – stood to reason that when I completed the ritual, you might get a free pass, too – and the dominance ritual might have no effect on either of you." He smiled, a smugly triumphant grin. "Call me a hopeless romantic – but the whole thing's just more meaningful this way!"

"I think you're seriously underestimating me, Baby," the Slayer smirked, but the fear had not faded from her dark green eyes – had in fact, intensified. "I think you have no idea of how much I can take without giving in -- especially with this much on the line! You think I'm gonna break easy – but you don't have a clue…"

"Oh, I really think I do," Spike interrupted, delivering another vicious blow to her stomach, leaving her coughing and groaning in pain as he grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and jerked her head back in an imitation of the cruel, dominating gesture she had used with him so many times this night, without giving her time to recover.

His eyes flashed golden fire as he leaned in closer to her to demand in a menacing snarl of bitter anger, "And stop bloody calling me that!"

The pain was obvious in the Slayer's wide emerald eyes -- but she smiled in spite of it, clearly determined to prove her mettle to her captor. 

"Make me," she sneered softly, adding pointedly, "Baby."

Spike felt an intense wave of rage rolling up inside of him, with her continued belittling behavior served to bring back the sense of shame and helplessness from when he was the one chained to the bed. He was simply bloody sick and tired of being helpless, of being talked to with such disdain, such mockery.

But he didn't have to take it anymore – and he was bloody well not going to!

He grabbed her slender arm in a fist of cool iron, giving it a vicious, wrenching twist, relishing the slight popping sound that he heard that told him he had done more than surface damage.

The Slayer was completely taken by surprise by the violent move, and her eyes rolled back slightly as she let out a howl of pain, which he hurriedly hushed with his hand over her mouth. She tried to jerk her head away, tried to bite him, but he only pressed harder, stilling her efforts with ease.

She had not yet recovered all that much of her strength, after all, it seemed.

"Right bloody foolish of me," he said softly, a grim smile coming over his face as he held the struggling, furious Slayer down against the mattress. "Dislocating your bloody arm while you're still able to scream for help."

He shook his head, meeting her wide, panicked eyes as he observed, "Wouldn't bloody look right, would it? If someone happened to hear you putting up a racket and come in here. I'd be hard pressed to explain this little picture away, wouldn't I?"

He was not surprised to see the Slayer's eyes light up with dawning hopeful understanding, as she froze for just a moment, before renewing her struggles to break free of his hand over her mouth. If she could just manage to draw some attention to them somehow, get someone to help her, then maybe she could get whoever showed up to let her out of the chains before Spike could stop them…

It was a long shot, she knew – but if that happened – it would all be over.

Her body was slowly repairing itself, though she was still weak from the blood he had taken from her – but she was healing much more quickly than a normal human would have. If she could only manage to get free of these chains, she knew she would stand a good chance against the vampire, despite her weakness.

But then – getting free of the chains was going to prove to be incredibly difficult.

"Now, love – let's settle down a bit, shall we?" Spike instructed her in a chillingly soft, threatening voice, his icy blue eyes focused on hers, narrowed slightly. "I'd hate to have to gag you – or drain you into unconsciousness again…" He paused, granting a little half-shrug as he corrected, "…well, no…actually I wouldn't. Gotta say, pet – you're bloody delicious…"

She tried to jerk away from him again, both furious and terrified, but he shoved her forcefully down onto the mattress, momentarily stunning her as he went on, "But it would put a bit of a damper on my plans for the moment…and honestly, I'd really rather just be rid of you as quickly as possible."

He paused, leaning in close to speak quietly near her ear, "Now listen here…if you do scream, get someone in here…do you really think any pathetic human would be able to stop me? I'd easily stop them instead…and then deal with you…so give it up and shut your soddin' mouth, love – before I get angry."

He was actually quite surprised when she did go still under his hand, almost immediately, fearful green eyes staring up into his.

Bloody hell, but she was a coward.

He cautiously, slowly rose up away from her, removing his hand from her mouth, but leaving it hovering slightly over her – just in case.

"So that's it, then?" she guessed, glaring at him resentfully. "That's your plan? You're just gonna – perform the ritual, try to get me to accept your dominance – and that's supposed to accomplish – what, exactly? I mean – I'll still be here. Your little girlfriend will still be sharing her body, even if you do control me…"

"See, that's where you're wrong, love," he smiled, moving with slow, measured steps away from the bed, to glance out the window into the darkness, his eyes searching for any signs that anyone had heard her muffled cries. "The spell that let you out, also provides that if you become bound by the claim – it's back to your original prison for you, pet."

He turned to face her again with a smug smile, drinking in the wide-eyed, trapped expression on her face like the sweetest ambrosia.

"It should put you right back where you came from…and leave Buffy's body back in her sole possession – where it belongs," he concluded with satisfaction in his voice, as he paced slowly around the bed again.

"Great plan," she sneered with obvious sarcasm. "Only one problem – you said my existence and all, the fact that my essence is separate from Buffy's body, and Buffy's essence was merging with mine – that's what allowed her to separate from her body – right?"

Spike nodded slowly, conceding her point and silently permitting her to go on.

"Well then – if I'm gone – how is she gonna get back into her own body? I mean – it might be fun for a little while for you two to give new definition to 'up close and personal' – but that could get really old when she starts hearing all your deep personal secrets…memories…hmm…could get positively ugly…"

Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at him with a falsely expectant smile of cruel mockery on her face. "Well? No answer for that little problem, huh?"

Spike shrugged lightly, turning away from her again. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, pet," he said quietly, calmly, with only the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice at her words. "Really – none of your bloody concern. You won't be around to see it, anyway."

"See – I knew you didn't have an answer for that one!" she crowed triumphantly. "The simple fact is, you two – you and Buffy – are stuck with me, Spike. There is no way that you are getting rid of me without some major risk to Buffy, one way or the other."

"You just let me worry about that, pet," Spike advised her, coming back close to the bed to meet her eyes again, a note of warning in his voice, and unmistakable anger in his eyes. "For now – we just need to think about sending you back to home sweet hell – don't we, pet?" The smug satisfaction in his voice took all the pleasure out of her small supposed victory.

An icy glare of resentment and anger was all the response she could muster.

"All I'm worried about at the moment," Spike remarked with a little smirk, "is getting you gone. Because I must say I've had bloody more than enough of you, pet."

"Good luck!" she sneered, but her tone was more defensive than certain, and trembling in a way that betrayed her fear more than her anger, "because I'm feeling quite a bit better already, Baby! You can't leave me in chains for the ritual – and I think you'll find that I'd put up more of a fight than you're expecting once you let me out of them!"

Spike's smile was cold and menacing as he advanced slowly on her. "Thanks for the heads up, pet."

Her eyes widened as she suddenly understood the mistake of what she had revealed to him. She pulled uselessly against her bonds as Spike vamped out, closing the distance between them at a slow, leisurely pace.

He had no reason to hurry.

"You can't do this!" she protested, her voice high and shrill and trembling with near-panic. "It's not fair!" There was a distinct whine in her voice. "I have to be able to fight you for the ritual to be performed properly!"

The vampire leaned over her, his cool hands pressing her shoulders down and holding her in place, even as she fought him, weakly but desperately. He smiled coldly into her eyes, his voice softening to a voice of quiet intensity, as he brought his lips close to her ear to ironically echo her earlier words to him.

"You have to be able to fight, pet – but you don't have to be able to win."

She froze, her eyes widening further as her head shot around to stare into his eyes in shock and disbelief, as her own words were thrown back in her face with deadly accuracy.

She didn't speak another word – didn't fight him anymore – didn't even move, until his fangs sunk once more into the flesh of her throat, and her back arched, and she gasped with the pain of it, as he drew the life-giving blood from her body, until she had blacked out once more.

Spike drew back away from her – no smile on his face now, as he regarded the wounded, limp body of his mate, lying bound and helpless on the bed. He felt that heavy, weary sensation coming over him again, and suddenly – he couldn't look at her.

As he turned away from her and braced his hand on the wall, slowly lowering his head to rest against it, breathing hard as he fought to regain the control he had maintained so well while she was conscious – the soft voice of his mate came to him in his head again.

You did so good, Sweetie, she assured him in a gentle, encouraging voice.

Sorry, pet – didn't mean to knock her out again…just…just couldn't bloody deal with her anymore at the moment… he explained, his tone listless and tired, as he attempted to make sense of his own actions.

That's okay, Buffy assured him. We need a little time, anyway.

Don't know why exactly, pet, he replied with a weary sigh. I'd rather just get this done with. And – and Buffy – how are we going to get you back into your body? Once this is over?

That's what I'm talking about, Spike, Buffy informed him patiently. Why we need time. She was silent for a moment, before going on in a voice of quiet surety.

I need to talk to my sister.


	75. Chapter 75

The knock on the door woke Dawn immediately with a sudden jolt, as she sat upright in her bed, her wide blue eyes focused on the door. A bit slower to rise, Joyce mumbled something in half-sleep, before slowly sitting up and looking toward the door as well.

Dawn rose from the bed and cautiously approached the door. It could only be one of two people at the door, as far as she was concerned – or perhaps both – and she knew that even if the worst case scenario were true, and it was her sister, under the Slayer's control – the flimsy motel door would not stop her from entering if she really wanted to.

"Dawnie – wait!" Joyce whispered urgently from the bed, her eyes wide with fear. "We don't know…"

But Dawn's hand was already on the doorknob, her jaw set with steely determination, as she opened the door. There was no sense in putting it off, or simply waiting for the Slayer to attack first.

After all, if it was the evil Slayer at the door – who better to subdue her than Dawn?

When the door opened, it revealed not her sister, but Spike, standing there, looking weary and a bit battered, but not badly hurt. Dawn felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight of him, as she automatically stepped back to allow him into the room.

Spike knew that if she had seen him only an hour earlier, her reaction to his appearance would have been much different. Half-draining a Slayer twice in the space of a couple of hours had had a remarkable impact on his health, and he now bore hardly any visible injuries, besides a few nearly faded bruises and almost-healed burns.

But none of that was on his mind at the moment.

"That was bloody stupid," he informed her, his eyes flashing with protective anger as he reached across the table near the door to turn on the light, while Dawn closed the door quietly behind him. "What were you thinkin', Bit? Just opening the door like that without looking to see who it was?"

"If it'd been Buffy, I'm the only one who can stop her anyway," she reminded him with a careless shrug that the blonde vampire found infuriating. "And anyway, it wasn't her – it was you."

"And if it'd been neither?" Spike countered, turning to meet her eyes, his eyebrows raised in challenge over a look of smoldering anger. "There's more than your big sis for a little girl to be scared of in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere like this!"

Dawn's careless mood faded into a serious expression, as she heard the slight catch in Spike's voice, saw the haunted, pained expression that was almost successfully covered by the anger in his eyes – but not quite.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, not wanting to argue with her friend – not when something was so clearly upsetting him – something more than her careless actions.

"And anyway," he went on, sinking into the chair behind the table wearily, one hand across his brow as he rested his elbow on the table in exhaustion. "You can't stop her – not anymore."

Joyce rose from the bed and started slowly toward him, alarm in her eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked with concern. Before, Dawn had been the only one who could stop the Slayer. If even she could not defeat her now…

"It's a long story, love," Spike sighed. "But one I've got to tell you. Got to fill you two in on what's been going on over there."

"I thought you two wanted to – um – wait until morning," Dawn frowned, after suppressing an awkward smile of embarrassment at the thought of what Buffy had insinuated to her that she and Spike had intended to spend the night doing. "What happened? Where's Buffy?"

"That's another long, difficult story, pet," he replied, his voice betraying his emotional exhaustion, now that he was here in the safest place he could imagine, surrounded by the people who loved him, with the cruel Slayer chained up in the next room and unable to harm him at the moment.

As Joyce neared him, and saw the nearly healed, but still visible marks on his face and body, heard the raw, painful emotion in his voice at the question of where her daughter was at the moment, she – quite understandably – misinterpreted the situation, and stopped short, a few feet away from him. She surprised both Spike and Dawn when she took the girl's arm and pulled her back slightly away from Spike as well – behind her.

"Spike – where is Buffy?" she asked, a certain hardness creeping into her voice as she studied the vampire's face intently, with a cool control that covered a rising fear within her – and covered it well.

"Mom!" Dawn gasped, indignant at the veiled almost-accusation in her mother's voice.

Spike's eyes shot up to those of the older woman; he had not missed the sound of uncertainty and reluctant mistrust in Joyce's voice. The look of hurt and betrayal in his wide, stunned blue eyes was almost physically painful to Joyce to look at – and she knew in the very next instant that her fears were unfounded, even before the vampire spoke in a voice that trembled with the power of the unreleased emotion that had been building in him for the past few days, and was now finding its way to the surface despite his intentions.

"She's safe," he replied, a pleading note to his voice as he held Joyce's gaze, hurt and desperation in his eyes. "She's safe, I promise you. I just – I have to explain it – it's – it's bloody confusing – just – just…"

His voice trailed off, as the sharp ache building in his chest at the sight of his adoptive family, standing at a distance from him, regarding him with suspicion, as a thing to be feared – just when he needed them near him most – became overwhelmingly painful for him…even as Joyce's suspicion softened to compassion and concern.

Spike lowered his head into his hands, as he managed to get his next words out, just barely, with a sound that was almost a sob of anguish and desolation, "…just don't – don't turn away from me, Joyce – please – I don't think I could – I mean – I need…"

Joyce could only guess at the trauma Spike had been through that night – but by his broken, pleading words, and the way his body was shaking with the release of his repressed emotions, she knew that more had gone on that night than he had intended. But she also knew that he was telling the truth – Buffy was safe – and that what he needed from her right then was love and compassion, rather than the caution and reserve that had come with her fears.

She went to him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his head in to cradle against her chest, as she had done that first day, when she had come home to find him battered and broken by Buffy's abuse, long before they had discovered what was really happening. He turned toward her, leaning into and accepting her embrace, his body trembling slightly as he tried to hold back his overwhelming emotions.

Dawn obeyed her mother's silent gesture to bring her a chair, taking one of the other chairs around the table and setting it behind her mother, so that she could sit down next to the shaken vampire. Joyce did not release her comforting hold on Spike as she sat down, just rocking slightly as she held him close to her.

"How could you think that I would – I could never -- even after she – I'd never hurt Buffy, don't you know that, Joyce?" he insisted in a voice that was thick with tears.

"Shhh," she whispered soothingly, gently cutting off his heart-wrenching words. "I know – it's all right – I'm sorry, Sweetie – I'm sorry…"

He just allowed her to hold him for a few minutes, grateful for the comfort and support that he had felt the painful lack of for so long – the mother's love that Joyce had given back to him, after more than a century bereft of it. The thought of, after all he had been through that night, losing Joyce and Dawn's trust and support as well, had simply been more than he could handle.

Once he had managed to regain control, she pulled back slowly, her hands on his shoulders as he met her eyes with a tentative, sheepish smile.

"Right bloody ponce, I am," he muttered quietly. "Letting m'self get so – so soddin' emotional…"

"There's gotta be a reason for it, though – right?" Joyce guessed, her tone serious and concerned, as she gently stroked back his blonde curls with soft fingertips. Her eyes shone with compassion as they searched his for the answers to the questions in her mind.

What had happened in the past few hours in the next room to make Spike so emotionally vulnerable and on edge?

"There is," he admitted – having little other choice. It was not as if she would have believed him if he had denied it. "But nothing I need to talk about."

Joyce opened her mouth to protest; she was certain from his reaction that Spike did need to talk about it. But before she could say a word, he finished quietly.

"Leastwise – not in front of Nibblet."

He glanced past her at Dawn, and Joyce's gaze followed his, as she realized that he had to be right. If it was enough to bring a powerful master vampire to tears, and it involved her older sister – it was nothing that Dawn needed to know about.

"Oh, come on!" Dawn objected in annoyance. "I'm not a child! You can tell me…"

"Dawn," Joyce cut her off, a bit sharply, "please go listen to your headphones, or watch TV or something. Spike needs to…"

"No," Spike interrupted softly, shaking his head as he met Joyce's eyes. "No – don't send her away. We – we kind of need to talk to her."

" 'We'do?" Joyce echoed dubiously, one eyebrow arched in a question, her look telling him that he had lost her.

"See – that's the thing," Spike said slowly, pulling back away from her and drawing in a deep breath as he tried to think of the best way to even begin to explain the situation. "Not 'we' you and me – 'we' – me and Buffy." He paused for a moment before going on, "You asked where Buffy is – actually – she's -- here."

"In this room?" Dawn asked, wide-eyed as she scanned the room for her apparently invisible sister.

"In this -- body," Spike clarified cautiously, searching their faces to be sure that they were understanding.

His strange words were, not surprisingly, met with utter silence.

"She – she jumped into me – to try to beat the Slayer demon. It was – the only way we could do it…" he began to explain, his words slightly tentative.

He could not really blame them if they did not exactly take this well.

"Say what?" Dawn said in a dubious voice, falling down into a chair across the table from Spike and her mother, staring at him in disbelief.

"It's hard to explain – the demon taking over her body and merging with her essence and such made it possible – it's this whole big thing -- but – just suffice it to say that Buffy and I are momentarily cohabitating in my body – and the Slayer demon is alone in hers," Spike explained.

"Why?" Joyce asked, shaking her head slightly, alarm in her eyes. Then, after a pause, "Where?"

"In our room…" Spike hesitated before adding, "…chained to the bed…" It took him a moment to work up the nerve to look at Joyce again, but when he did, he saw no anger in her eyes. "I – I had to, Joyce – there was no other way…she…she…"

Her soft blue eyes regarded him with compassion and understanding. "I understand, Spike," she assured him. "You haven't got a lot of options here. But – Buffy's in you, so…what good does that do again?"

"I can do the dominance ritual with no chance of actually dominating Buffy, or having the Slayer get away free because of being joined with Buffy – I can – do what I have to, to get her to accept my claim – without worrying about hurting Buffy," he went on, cautiously, glancing uncertainly at Joyce at his last words.

Her expression had darkened somewhat, but she nodded slowly, accepting the difficult necessity of what he was saying. "But – how does she get back in her own body? Once the dominance ritual is done?"

"That's why we're here," Spike said, taking a deep breath as he looked at Dawn. "You're the only one who can help us with that, Bit, once the Slayer demon is back where she belongs."

"Me?" Dawn echoed in a small voice, before staring down at the table, thinking hard about the whole thing.

"Yeah," he nodded. "See – Buffy wants to explain it to you – what she came up with…she's actually learned a lot from pickin' this nasty's brain so to speak, while they've been joined up – and it seems you've got some powers of your own you haven't known about, Bit…but – she can probably explain it better than I can…"

Dawn's eyes widened as she looked back up at him. "You mean – I can talk to Buffy while she's in there?"

"Well – yeah," Spike nodded with a little self-conscious shrug. "But only through your minds. It works kinda like when she was in her own body, and the Slayer was in control? How if you touched her, you'd draw her to the surface? She's got some answers for you on that, too, by the way – but that's how it works now. You've just gotta – touch me – and reach for her, like you did before…and the two of you will be able to communicate…okay?"

Dawn glanced at her mother, who looked away, not wanting to influence her daughter with her own apprehension. She looked back at Spike, her jaw setting with resolution.

"Looks like we don't have a choice. Okay. Let's do this."

Spike nodded. "K. Gimme a second."

Buffy, love? You ready? he asked her in his mind, realizing suddenly that she had been very quiet throughout his whole conversation with Joyce and Dawn.

When she did speak, her mental voice was very small and a little sad. Yes. I'm ready, Spike, she assured him.

He still did not feel quite inclined to comfort her, although something was clearly bothering her. Still, he could tell that she was hurting, and he wanted to at least make the effort to try to be supportive.

Buffy? he repeated hesitantly.

I'm ready, she insisted, clearly trying to change the subject. Let's do this.

She thought she was covering it up, brushing away his inquiries and protecting her shame from his sight – but she was not. He could feel her emotions as easily as she could feel his – and in her voice, he could hear her guilt and remorse for the pain she had caused him.

Suddenly, he realized that it must have been quite difficult for Buffy, watching his emotional reaction in her mother's arms, feeling his pain and confusion and knowing that she had put it there – realizing that the comfort she had offered him earlier had been good, well-intentioned, and well-received...but not quite enough – simply because it had come from her.

Because no matter what the situation, no matter how hard they tried to tell themselves that it was not Buffy's fault, she was still, in a sense, his abuser.

Buffy, love – don't…

Spike – not now, okay? she insisted softly, and there was a pleading note to her words in his head. Let's just – do this, okay?

Spike relented, not wanting to push her too hard.

Okay, he agreed, looking up expectantly at Dawn.

"Come on, pet – she's ready," he nodded encouragingly, beckoning Dawn nearer as she rose and came around the table, reaching out with a nervous, trembling hand to take his arm.

And for Dawn, in an instant -- everything changed.


	76. Chapter 76

Immediately, Dawn felt the powerful connection with her sister, as she stood there, her arm locked with Spike's – lost to the rest of the world, for the moment. She could see the room around her, was aware as her mother watched her closely, anxiously – but it did not seem to matter to her at the moment.

All she heard and felt was her sister.

Dawnie? Can you hear me?

Um, yeah – as weird as it is to say that. Or -- not say that…think that…whatever. This is a little on the freaky side, Buffy, she informed her dryly.

More than a little, Buffy agreed, a bit apologetically. But I need you to listen to me. We don't exactly have a lot of time to work with here.

Okay – what do you need me to do?

For now, you'll be waiting here, until Spike calls you to let you know the ritual is finished. But when it's over – when the Slayer has submitted to us – then we'll need you. You're the only one who can put me back in my own body.

Whoa. Dawn's eyes widened in surprise. And – how does that work again – exactly?

It's a really long story, but – let me just sum it all up for now and say that you and me are a lot closer than most sisters would be. A lot closer. It's like you're – a part of me, Dawn. That's why you could pull me out when the Slayer was in control – why we can do this now – because it's just natural for you and me to be drawn together. It's almost like we're – the same person.

Okay, Buffy – this is getting a little scary, Dawn said slowly in her head. I'm not really sure what you're talking about, but…

Dawnie, I know it's weird, Buffy interrupted gently. But it's true. I've learned a lot about this whole situation from the Slayer's thoughts. More than you might think. Let's just say – there are a few advantages, after all, to temporarily sharing my body with this thing. And I didn't get it at first – but she sensed it right off. I don't know how it's possible – we'll figure it all out when we get home – but for now, I just know it's true. We're like the same person, Dawn. And when we're touching, it's like we're – double strong. That's why you could help drive the Slayer back.

She paused, waiting to be sure her little sister was not too lost in the confusing subject matter.

And that's why – why Spike said I couldn't hurt her now? Because with you not in there, when I touch her, it's just like – you trying to fight her all on your own – right? Dawn guessed, trying hard to figure it out.

Exactly – neither of us, separate, is strong enough to beat her – only together. So right now you need to stay away from her! Buffy finished, vehemently.

Okay, Dawn agreed in a slow, hesitant voice. So – how am I gonna get you back in your own body?

Once the ritual is done, and the demon is gone – my body should be – empty, Buffy went on cautiously, aware that what she was trying to tell her sister could cause some seriously major wiggage to Dawn, and wanting to put it as gently as possible.

The idea was even wigging her out.

Almost as if I was…

Dead, Dawn finished for her in a quiet, grim voice.

Well – yeah, Buffy admitted, sobered by the thought. She really did not want to die again. But I won't be – not really. I'm in Spike, and I'm fine. So – you'll need to be touching my body – and Spike's – and if everything works like I think it will, since you're basically me, and you draw me out, I should be able to go through you back into my body.

She was silent for a moment, allowing her words to sink in, before asking in a tentative sort of voice, So what are you thinking?

Dawn hesitated a moment before replying, I'm thinking there's an awful lot of 'probably' and 'should be able to' in what you just said – and I'm wondering if maybe something could go wrong.

Honestly, Dawnie – something probably could…I have no idea, Buffy admitted honestly. We don't know for sure about any of this. Only that in theory – it should work. But – if you think it's too dangerous, Dawnie – if you're too scared…

Of course I'm scared, Buffy, Dawn interrupted matter-of-factly. I'm not a complete moron – so yes, I'm scared.

There was a moment of silence as Buffy tried to determine how her sister had meant her words.

Then, Dawn added softly, But that doesn't matter. I don't think we really have a choice here – do we? This sounds like the only way.

It probably is, Buffy conceded quietly.

Then that's what we'll do, Dawn agreed. Just – just make sure Spike calls me as soon as the ritual's over. I don't want to wait any longer than necessary. I'm gonna be freaking out enough as it is, waiting.

Okay, Buffy agreed, her tone making it clear that the conversation was nearly over. Guess we've got it, then…

Buffy… Dawn interjected quickly, in a nervous, uncertain voice. How – I mean – if I'm – part of you -- am I even – am I…

She hesitated, and Buffy waited patiently for her to go on.

Am I really a person at all? I mean – I don't understand. How can I be a part of you? Aren't I – well -- me?

Dawnie, Buffy gently tried to find an answer to the same questions that had been plaguing her ever since she had read the partial truth about her sister in the demon's thoughts. I'm not sure how it all works. We'll need to figure it out when we get home, like I said. All I know is – something about you – your existence was caused by magic – and you're a part of me. That's all I know. I'm sorry – but as soon as we get rid of this thing – we'll figure it out. Okay?

Dawn's voice sounded small, and insecure, and not the least bit reassured by Buffy's words. Okay.

I'll talk to you soon, Dawnie. It's time to go, Buffy told her apologetically, adding after a moment's hesitation, I love you.

I love you, too. Dawn's response was automatic, as she deliberately withdrew her hand from Spike's arm, though she was nowhere near ready to.

As the world around her came back into focus, she looked between her mother and Spike, blinking as if just waking from a deep sleep, before sinking down into the chair beside Spike, across from her mother.

"Well. That was – weird beyond all weirdness, ever," she remarked flatly, looking up at her mother with a serious expression on her face.

"What did she say?" Joyce asked, an anxious frown creasing her brow – and Dawn remembered that she had not actually spoken aloud during her conversation with Buffy.

"Um – she just told me – how to get her back into her body after the ritual's over. It's – it's simple. Easy. Nothing to worry about."

Her words were technically true – "in theory" – but that was not the part of the conversation that was troubling her. She could not bring herself to tell her mother all of what Buffy had said – not yet.

She still had to figure it out for herself.

Was she even real? Even a person at all? Or just an extension of her "sister's" personality?

It was all terribly confusing and frightening – and suddenly – Dawn felt very, very alone.

"I'd better get dressed," Joyce said, grabbing some clothes and hurrying about the room as she headed toward the bathroom. "At a time like this it's best to be prepared for anything…."

"Yeah," Spike replied with a grin that was a little forced, and very tired. "Wouldn't do to have the impending apocalypse catch you in your nightdress!"

Joyce gave him a gently reproving smile – that suddenly faded as his words registered. "Wait – apocalypse?" she echoed uncertainly.

"If the ritual doesn't go as planned," he shrugged, a bit too dismissively for Joyce's comfort, "but it will. We'll win." He glanced up at her, and stopped short when he saw the worry in her eyes. "Well, Joyce, a demon like that gets control of a Slayer's body – no telling what could happen. But those sorts of nasties usually are pretty intent on doing as much destruction as possible. Wouldn't put it past her to try to wipe out the whole world."

Joyce stared at him for a moment longer before rushing off to the bathroom.

The next moment, Dawn was surprised to feel a strong, cool hand close around hers. She looked up to see Spike's weary blue eyes focus on her face in a look of compassion and concern, though he did not say a word.

She looked away for a moment, her eyes downcast as she asked calmly, "Did you hear that?"

He nodded slowly. "Every bloody word."

"What – what am I, Spike?" Dawn asked, looking up at him through troubled, tearful eyes. "Why am I even here?"

"You're a bloody brilliant, beautiful young woman, is what you are – and my Little Bit," he assured her gently, raising his free hand to push a stray lock of long, dark hair back from her face. "And as for the second bit – can't rightly say for sure. I just know that if you weren't here – I'd be dead right now – and so would your sister, for that matter. Your existence is what's held the Slayer back so far – so I'd say all in all it's a bloody good thing. So I can't say why you're here – just that I'm bloody glad you are."

The tenderness in his voice brought fresh tears to her eyes, and Dawn found herself leaning forward and allowing the vampire to hug her close for a few minutes.

"There now, Bit – it's all right," he gently soothed her, running one hand through her hair soothingly. "We'll get it all sorted."

Dawn nodded, pulling reluctantly away from him. She knew that they had work to do, and did not want her tears to hold him back from doing what he needed to do.

"You'd better go," she reminded him quietly, sniffing back tears as she released his hand.

The subtle, but definite change in his expression at her words, reminded her of the state of mind he had been in when he had entered the room, and she realized how difficult it must be for him to face what he was going back to, as he rose reluctantly to his feet with a sigh.

"Right, then. Off I go. Be ready by the phone, Bit. I'll call you when it's over."

"Spike," she spoke softly, following him to the door.

He stopped in the doorway, without turning, as he waited for her to speak.

"Remember – it's not Buffy in there – okay?" she said quietly. "So – do whatever you have to do."

He simply nodded, not wanting to allow his emotions to get the better of him, not now, just when he was about to go back into the fight. Without a word, he walked out the door and toward his own room.

Those simple, surprisingly vital words echoed in his mind as he opened the door, to see the Slayer lying still on the bed, her eyes closed in the appearance of sleep. But his sharp hearing had picked up on the slight increase of her heartbeat as he had entered the room – and the tension in her bound body made it clear that she was awake, despite her best efforts to disguise the fact.

"Oh, come on, now, love!" he scoffed lightly, his confident, subtlely menacing demeanor instantly back in place. "You don't really think I'm that stupid, do you?"

The Slayer realized that she was found out, opening her eyes and smirking up at him mockingly. The door he had just left open for her was just too easy to pass up. "No, Baby – I know you are!" she sneered.

A tight, grim smile came over the vampire's lips, as he sidled slowly nearer to the bed. "I was hoping you'd say that," he informed her in a low voice of dark menace – just before delivering a vicious backhand blow across her face. Grabbing her hair, he jerked her head back to expose the twin puncture marks on her throat from his earlier attack, his features shifting as he leaned in to growl near her ear, "Just keep giving me reasons, pet – because I'd bloody love to keep beating the bleedin' daylights out of you!"

"You really are no different for me!" she declared, glaring defiantly up at him. "You can say all you want about me liking a helpless opponent – and yet you had to weaken me before you'd try to fight me again!" she accused him. "Knew you couldn't take me at full strength!"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, unfazed by her taunts. "You at full strength versus me at full strength, with no soddin' claims in place to complicate matters – we'll never know how that match would have turned out, will we, pet? You're the one had to spend the evening systematically wearing me down."

He shrugged again, tilting her head slightly and leaning in nearer to her throat, glistening fangs extended. "Way I see it," he continued in a low, almost seductive whisper, "a bloke's got to compensate somehow!"

"Yeah!" she laughed – but there was an almost hysterical note to the sound. She was desperately trying to conceal how utterly terrified she was. "You're definitely compensating for some…"

Her words were cut off by his hand over her mouth, as he leaned in to bite her for a third time. She fought him for a few brief seconds – and then relaxed, her body gradually going limp beneath him.

Spike drew back, studying her slack face. It had only taken a few sips of her blood this time to bring her to the edge of unconsciousness. Of course, he had just bitten her a very short time ago, draining her until she passed out, right before going to Dawn's and Joyce's room. She probably had not quite recovered yet – which was a good thing.

Of course – there was always the chance that it was a trick.

But then – did it really matter?

She had been robbed of her blood three times in the space of as many hours – and he was feeling incredibly strong, the Slayer's blood pumping through his veins suffusing him with a renewed vigor and power like he had not felt in years.

There was no way to be completely sure that she was not faking her extreme weakness and near unconsciousness.

But there never would be – and he would never be more ready to take her on than he was at this moment.

She moaned softly as he reached for the chains that bound her to the bed, freeing her wrists and ankles in turn, though she did not get up.

"Rise and shine, love," he said with a bit too much cheer. "Time to get this bloody show on the road!"

With those words he grabbed her arm and dragged her forcefully off of the bed, and onto the floor beside it. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, gasping for breath, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it, as Spike stepped back for a moment to regard her, before leaning in closer.

"This is gonna be easier than I thought," he smirked, moving in nearer to her, drawing his fist back to strike her again.

His plan was simple – dish out enough pain, and the Slayer would cave, accepting his dominance – and her own doom.

However, the Slayer had plans of her own.

As he reached her, towering over her menacingly, she struck out in a lightning quick move, grabbing his ankle with more strength than she had appeared to have, and yanking it out from under him, knocking him flat onto his back on the floor.

As she pounced on him with a feral, gleaming grin, a sadistic delight in her eyes, she shot back, "You read my mind -- Baby!"

The use of the name infuriated Spike; his eyes narrowed in anger. He had no idea how she had recovered so quickly, or how long she had been pretending to be weaker than she was. Perhaps Buffy's not being in her body had given the Slayer a bit of an advantage – her demon power not hampered as much by Buffy's human frailty.

This fight could turn out to be a bit more difficult than he had planned – but it was not one he intended to lose.

"I told you, love," he smiled boldly up at her, before suddenly raising his head to crack against hers in a brutal headbutt, using the few dazed moments he had given her to reverse their positions, pinning her under him instead. "Stop calling me that!"

The Slayer glared up at him defiantly, rage and malicious intent in her eyes – and he knew that she had no intention of losing this fight, either.

But one of them was going to have to – and there was no turning back now.

The Slayer and the vampire were both at the peak of their strength.

And the fight was on.


	77. Chapter 77

"Guess what?" the Slayer smirked, apparently unbothered by her momentary position of disadvantage, beneath her opponent. "Your little friend Buffy's not being here has its advantages – like, for example…" She shrugged casually, "super-fast healing, greater strength – 'cause you know, less pesky human frailty to hold me back. Humanity can be a real drag, Spike," she observed in an unsettlingly cheerful voice.

Spike was ready, eager to wipe the smug smile off her face once and for all.

Well – at least until Buffy was wearing her own face again.

But before he could react, the Slayer punctuated her words with a forceful shove that sent him somersaulting backwards off of her. However, he was unfazed by her attack as well, quickly springing to his feet and readily awaiting her next move. It did not bother him that she was a bit stronger than he had expected her to be; after all, he was feeling unusually strong himself, after feeding from her so many times in one night.

He smiled wickedly as a very pleasant thought occurred to him.

"No big surprise there, love," he shrugged, his golden eyes flashing with dangerous glee as he returned her smirk easily. "I have a few dim memories of humanity, myself…remember what it was like…know you've gotta be feeling bloody powerful, suddenly being free of – well, most of that. But here's the thing, pet, the one thing I don't think you've figured on -- I can feel that greater strength – coursing through my veins."

He paused for a moment, giving her a few seconds to process his words, before going on with a bold, victorious smirk, "Good thing I had a little drink before the fight, eh, pet? Evens up the odds a bit."

He was pleased to see the Slayer's eyes widen with surprise, and realized with a sense of satisfaction that it had not occurred to her that he might have gained the increased benefit of her strength, too, by drinking from her while Buffy was outside her body, and she was so much stronger than usual.

"What's the matter, pet?" he taunted her with a smirk, feinting in toward her, his smile widening when she quickly backed up a step. "Thought you were just whining about a 'fair fight' a few minutes ago. Though I can't rightly say when you decided that was what you wanted – this entire evening considered," he reminded her, his smile fading, his eyes becoming darker, serious.

The Slayer forced her bold smile back to her lips, throwing her head back defiantly as she replied, "Oh, but Baby – the evening's just beginning…" As she spoke, she lunged quickly toward him in an attempt to throw him back down to the ground.

He caught her as she reached him, effortlessly tossing her over his shoulder and into the wall behind him, spinning around to face her as she struggled to rise, a bit dazed from the violent – and terribly loud – impact

"No, love," he corrected her in a soft, menacing voice, as he stalked slowly toward her. "I assure you – it's just…about…over…"

She scrambled quickly to her feet, glancing to either side of her with near-panic in her eyes, as she realized she really had no where to go. The small size of the little motel room did not leave her much room to work with. She stood there with her back against the wall, next to the deadbolted door – and a light of evil inspiration suddenly began in her eyes.

Spike caught it, realized what she was thinking – and quickly cut her off, slamming his fist into the wall beside her – between her and the door – with carefully restrained force. He really did not want to awaken their fellow motel guests and draw attention to them – or to have monstrous repair bill charged to them when they left this little dive – so he tried not to hit the wall too hard.

Still – the impact left a crack in the plaster beside her head.

"I don't think so, pet," he informed her in a low, grim voice of intent determination. "You're not going anywhere until this is good and settled."

"Oh, yeah?" the Slayer countered, a challenge in her glittering green eyes, even as she leaned back against the wall, apparently intimidated by his oppressive nearness. "That's funny. Because I…do!" As she spoke, she brought her knee up sharply, in a direct path toward his groin.

Spike saw the blow coming, and ducked back before she could actually make contact – but in so doing, he allowed her to move away from the wall. In a matter of seconds she had twisted the deadbolt on the door and opened it, backing out onto the walkway, grinning wildly a him in giddy triumph.

"Come on," she baited him mockingly in a loud whisper, beckoning him toward her with a double-handed gesture of challenge. "Let's take this show out into the streets – get some nosy neighbor to call the police. Let's see how many innocent little humans we can get killed in the process of our little showdown, shall we?"

Spike hesitated, aware that she was more than capable of carrying out what she was suggesting. The Slayer would have no problem with drawing attention to them – and he knew as well as she did that any ordinary human would not be capable of stopping the conflict between the vampire and the super-human Slayer.

In fact, anyone who tried would be sure to get seriously hurt or killed, if the Slayer had her way about it.

Buffy… he began slowly. Love…what…

We have to warn Mom and Dawn – she'll go after them first… Buffy reminded him, the urgency unmistakable in her voice. …and then we have to get her away from the motel, if possible…like…away from all these people…

All what people, pet? Things look pretty quiet for now…

But that changes the second she decides to scream…

The Slayer was still standing there, attempting to stare him down, waiting for him to make a move. Suddenly, it seemed to occur to her what she should be doing under the circumstances, and she darted off down the walkway toward the room a couple of doors down.

"Bloody soddin' hell," Spike muttered, starting to go after her, but then hesitating by the door, taking a moment to grab the cell phone off the table as he headed out onto the walkway.

The phone was already set to Joyce's number, and Dawn was waiting by the phone urgently, so he had barely stepped out onto the sidewalk when he heard her anxious voice.

"Hello?"

"Dawn, don't open the door! Whatever you do, do not open the bloody door!"

"Spike – what…"

"Just listen to me, okay? I'm gonna get her away from the door as fast as I can…you and your mum just be ready for anything…I'm gonna take the car in a few minutes, okay? So don't be worried…"

As he spoke, making his way down the walkway toward their room at a brisk pace, he could hear a sharp, but not too forceful, knock in the background.

"Spike?" Dawn's voice was uncertain, and verging on panic, in his ear, as he came within a few feet of the Slayer, standing outside Joyce's and Dawn's door, smiling at him calmly as she suddenly stopped her polite knocking and drew back to kick the door as hard as she could.

It shook with the force of her blow, but did not quite give way – not yet.

"Spike!" Dawn's shrill almost-scream in his ear was cut off as he snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his pocket, just before grabbing the Slayer by the hair and yanking her back away from the door, shoving her into the railing that ran along the second floor, outdoor walkway they were standing on.

"Hey, Baby," she said softly, teasingly, as she looked him up and down suggestively. "Can you wait just a second? Got something I need to take of first, and then I'm all yours."

"Tempting as the offer is, pet," he replied, his voice low and dark and tinged with disgust as he returned her derisive, up-and-down look, gripping her wrists and holding her back against the railing, so that her back bent over it, placing her in very real danger of toppling over backwards, had he not been holding her up. "I think I'll pass…and so will they."

"We'll see about…" she began to retort – but her words were cut off as he suddenly released her wrists, smashing his fist violently across her face, and then following up the blow with a second, equally forceful punch across the other side of her face.

While she was dazed, recovering from the blinding blows, he suddenly gave her a violent shove that sent her careening backward over the railing, smashing hard into the unyielding pavement of the parking lot beneath them.

"Spike!"

Dawn's terrified cry behind him spun him around for a moment in surprise, throwing him a bit off his guard. He had not realized that she had been watching the little encounter, even after he had instructed her to stay in the room and lock the door.

"Go back inside!" he ordered sharply, in a voice that trembled with terse emotion, as he grabbed the railing and sprang over the edge, landing cat-like on his feet near the coughing, groaning Slayer on the ground.

He could not be sure if Dawn had obeyed him or not – but he meant to make sure that it did not matter. He tried not to think about the fact that Dawn had just watched him smacking her sister around – at least, it would have appeared that way to her. He tried not to think about whether or not Joyce had witnessed the display, what she might think of the whole thing.

All he could allow himself to focus on right now was the battle at hand.

Buffy's body was struggling to rise to its feet, after the breath-taking blow it had taken in the fall. The distance was not really that greatly dangerous, to a Slayer – but it was enough to bruise and weaken her somewhat. As she stumbled to her feet, glaring at him with murderous dark green eyes, he advanced on her slowly, deliberately.

"I'll kill you," she stated coldly, her voice low and dangerous.

"Maybe," he shrugged carelessly, as he closed the distance between them. "Not tonight."

He punctuated his words with another brutal blow across her face that sent her staggering back, before she could even raise a hand to him. He noticed as he did so that she limped slightly, nearly losing her footing, though he had done nothing to injure her leg.

Except, of course – shove her over a railing two stories high.

Yeah. That might have done it.

A slow smile spread across his lips as he advanced on her again. "What's the matter, pet?" he taunted her softly. "Having a bit of trouble?"

Her eyes widened in fear, as he launched another blow, this time to her stomach, that knocked her back onto her knees, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Hmm," he mused thoughtfully, coming to stand over her intimidatingly. "Wonder how long it takes a Slayer to mend broken bones." He shrugged. "Longer than you've got, I'd wager."

She scrambled back to her feet, staggering a couple of times but managing to do it, although with a groan of pain at the effort. Her eyes were wide and panicked, as she glanced around at the empty parking lot, beginning to realize the hopelessness of her situation.

She did have accelerated healing – but he was right. It would not work fast enough to help her in this fight. Spike did not seem about to let up, despite her obvious disadvantage. No, he was rather determined to take advantage of it himself. And he had been right about one thing, though she had not wanted to admit it before; she had not even been completely aware of it before.

But it was becoming more clear with every moment of this increasingly unbalanced fight.

Human pain was something that she was not very well-prepared to deal with.

Already, she wanted desperately to give in, to stop the vicious beating he was delivering that left her entire body aching, burning, filled with pain and exhaustion. The only thing that was holding her back from doing so was the thought that when she did, she would be returned to the prison that had held her before.

The quiet, peaceful prison – where there was no appalling torment such as he was currently giving her…

No! she reminded herself fiercely. No, I can't give in! Can't let him win…

She stood there for a moment, debating – aware that she was not capable of holding out against him for long. And then, finally, the Slayer decided on a course of action.

She ran.

Well, as much as someone with a badly injured leg can run, anyway; she turned and limped away from him desperately across the parking lot, screaming out in a shrill, frantic voice, "Help me! Somebody help me! Help me, please, he's going to kill me! Help me!"

Spike felt the first moment of true alarm he had felt in the situation, since driving her away from Dawn and Joyce's door. If she managed to get some innocent, hapless human involved, someone was bound to get hurt. He didn't want to actually hurt Buffy's body too much more than he already had; he certainly couldn't kill her – and she could cause a lot of trouble for him if he could not get her away from here before she drew too much attention to herself.

He noticed with a sudden sense of amusement that she was heading toward his car, only a few short yards away from her by now.

But he was only a few short yards from her, as well – which he quickly closed, just as she reached the car, shoving her up against it from behind, one hand quickly locking over her mouth and pulling her back against him, his other arm wrapped around her shoulders and holding her to him, while effectively pinning her arms.

She struggled violently against him, almost managing to break his grip, before he slammed her forcefully forward against the car, at the same time mercilessly kicking her injured leg out from under her. She let out a scream of pain that was muffled by his firm hand, as he leaned in closer, pressing her between him and the car, as he raised his hand in front of her face – holding the keys to his car.

"Thinking of going for a ride -- Baby?" he sneered, his lips so near to her ear that she could feel his smirk against her skin. "Funny – so was I. But you won't get far without these. Good thing I've got 'em, eh?"

His hand slipped from her mouth to close around her throat, as he lowered his hand to attempt to unlock the door. She struggled against him, but was unable to break his grip as he managed awkwardly to open the door, and tried to shove her in.

She was gripping the handle of his car door tightly, pulling against him with all her strength. His hand slipped from her throat as he fought to counteract her resistance and force her into the car.

"You are not getting me into that car!" she snarled, hanging on for all she was worth to the handle, trying to break his grip on her. "Not while I can do anything about it!"

"Oh, is that all," he replied calmly. "For a second there I was worried – but that won't be such a very long time. Now, let's see? What did you do when you wanted me not to be able to resist you?" he mused with mocking thoughtfulness.

"Oh, right," he smirked. "Now I remember…"

His hand gripped her hair in an iron fist and suddenly slammed her head forward hard against the unyielding metal of his car, and he felt her body suddenly go limp beneath him, as she lost consciousness.

"Bloody hurts, don't it, love?" he said in a voice of quiet mockery, though he was not sure if she could hear him or not by then.

It didn't really matter; it was incredibly satisfying, either way.

She offered no resistance as he bundled her around to the back of his car, and deposited her roughly and unceremoniously in the trunk. As he got into the driver's seat and started the engine, glancing around at the still-quiet, deserted parking lot, he realized that Buffy had been quiet for quite some time now.

Buffy, love? he asked her softly. You all right?

Um…I hope so, she said in a small, timid voice after a moment. Just – sort of – trying to deal…

Spike knew exactly what she meant, but had no words to offer to comfort her, so he just stayed silent, as he pulled the DeSoto out of the parking lot and headed out across the desert, into the night surrounding them.


	78. Chapter 78

Maybe you ought to call Dawn – let her and Mom know we're okay, Buffy suggested after they had been driving for about ten minutes. They have to be scared to death right now, Spike…

Spike did not respond for a long moment, apparently lost in his own thoughts, before nodding slowly. "Right," he agreed aloud, taking the cell phone from his pocket and pressing the speed dial to connect him with Joyce's phone.

It had barely started to ring for the first time when Joyce hurriedly picked it up.

"Is it them? Is it Spike?" he could hear Dawn's tearful, anxious voice in the background, just before Joyce spoke into the phone, to him.

"Spike? Where are you?" There was a sharp, slightly angry note to her voice that betrayed her fear and concern.

" 'S all right, pet – didn't mean to scare you so badly. Just had to get the Slayer away from the unsuspecting populace so we can finish this without anyone getting hurt."

"What about you? And Buffy? You two could get seriously hurt!" The angry tears she had been shedding were obvious in her trembling, hoarse voice.

Spike was silent for a long moment, as Joyce waited for his response. Finally he answered in a quiet, heavy voice of resignation, "There's not going to be much getting around that one, pet – one way or the other." He paused, considering for a moment before continuing cautiously, "Maybe both ways."

Joyce took in that difficult truth for a moment, before going on in a trembling voice, "Is she – is she even okay? After – after…" Joyce's voice caught in her throat over the question, and Spike felt a pang of guilt come over him at the sound.

It could not have been easy for the woman to watch as he had shoved her daughter over a ledge a couple of stories above the ground – and he was convinced by now, that Joyce had been watching.

"She's fine, pet…takes a bit more than that to do in a Slayer…"

Spike! Buffy hissed in his mind, horrified.

"…not that – anyone's going to be doing that, tonight – or anytime soon, for that matter…" Spike sighed, realizing that his words were not anywhere near the realm of helpful. "…Joyce…love…it's gonna be fine, I promise you…we're gonna complete the ritual, and I'll call you when it's done – okay?"

Joyce was silent for a long moment – and then suddenly, the line went dead.

She had hung up.

"Well -- that was just bloody rude," Spike remarked, a note of hurt to his voice.

Give her a break, Spike, Buffy said in a soft, tired voice. She's dealing with a lot here, too…she just needs a little time to deal with it.

Well, it's not like I'm not dealing with it all, too, and times soddin' ten, love! Spike countered. She could be a bit more understanding…

Of the fact that her daughter -- to all appearances – is trying to kill you…and you have to beat the crap out of her daughter and make her submit to you in order to save yourself and her entire family, maybe the world…yeah…that's easy enough to understand.

When did you become the soddin' practical one? Spike demanded grudgingly.

He could almost feel Buffy's soft, sad smile inside him as she went on encouragingly, ignoring his only half-serious question, She'll feel a lot better once we both get back, safe and sound – for the most part, anyway.

Spike could not miss the faint sound of uncertainty and fear in her voice, and realized that the idea of what he was going to have to do in a very short time had to be a bit unsettling for Buffy as well.

I'll try not to hurt you anymore than I have to, love – you know that, he assured her gently.

No, she said sharply, surprising him. Don't say that. You do whatever you have to do, Spike. I'm a Slayer – I'll heal. You just do what you have to do to win this fight, Spike. She was quiet for a moment, before going on with grim certainty. And if it comes down to you or her – even then – don't hold back, Spike. Do not let her kill you – even if you have to…even…

I am bloody well not going to kill you, Buffy! he declared, shocked and aghast a her words. No matter what happens, I won't do that!

You might have to! Buffy insisted, a bit harsher than she had intended the words to come out. Spike – we have to consider all the possibilities.

Killing you is not a possibility…it won't happen, love – period. I'll bloody die first…

You -- and Mom and Dawn? Whoever else she decides to kill when she goes on her little happy spree of celebration over winning control of my body? And there's another thing – if she kills you – she'll probably kill me, too, Spike. I'm here in you right now.

But if I kill you – your body – then you'll probably die, too – and I can't do that…

Spike, she cut him off gently, a courageous resignation to her mental voice that went a long way towards bridging the rift that had grown between them, and restoring some of his affection for her. If she wins this fight – if she kills you – you, me, Dawn and Mom -- everyone she comes in contact with will die. She will use my body to do incredible damage. If you have to kill her to win the fight – then you'll save my family, yourself – who knows? Maybe even me. We don't know exactly how this whole thing works.

Buffy – I don't know if I can do that… he confessed after a long silence, as he took in the painful truth of her words.

Don't tell me that, Spike! she snapped, her fear evident in her voice. You have to win this. Period. There's no getting around it, Spike.

"Bloody hell, Buffy, would you just quit telling me what I have to do? You can't do that anymore!" he shot back, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

His outburst took her by surprise, and momentarily silenced her. Well – more than momentarily. The silence seemed to spread out between them, even joined as they were, and he could feel how his words had stung her. He knew that it was not really her fault – not completely – and he should care that he had hurt her with his words.

But he didn't. Not right then.

I – I'm sorry, she finally whispered, tentative, uncertain and more than a little ashamed. I – I didn't mean to – I mean – I wasn't trying to – to order you around, Spike…

Why not? he shot back in his mind, knowing that he should stop, but somehow having no intention of it. You always have…even before all this. This whole bloody thing started because you wanted me to have no choice but to obey your bloody orders – didn't it? Because it wasn't enough that I'd already been stripped of every semblance of mastery over my own life; you weren't content until it was in your bloody hands!

Buffy could not bring herself to respond, but her silence made it clear that she knew what he was saying was the truth. Still, it was painful to hear the anger, the resentment in his voice over what she had so thoughtlessly done to him. She knew she should answer, should apologize, even – but she knew if she tried to speak, she would only end up crying.

I'm sorry, Buffy, he finally relented with a weary sigh. It's just – I can handle this, all right? I'll do what I have to do – but I won't lose – and I won't lose you, Buffy – all right?

All right, Buffy agreed immediately, her voice small and cautious. She was silent for a moment, before continuing softly, When this is all over – when we're back home – we're gonna need to – to work this out, Spike.

I know.

I mean – we're mated now…that's permanent. I know – I know this is all hard, and I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again after this…but…it's not like either of us can just walk away now…

I know that.

We just – have to try to work through this…somehow…

I know that, Buffy, Spike cut her off, his voice sharp and impatient and displaying the anger and pain that he was trying so hard to keep from showing completely – quite a feat considering that she was actually in his mind at the moment, and could hear his thoughts and feel his feelings. Can we just -- not try to work it through right now? I've got quite a bloody lot on my mind as it is – all right, love?

The pet name and slightly softened tone on the end of his words did little to soften the blow of those words. She knew that she had hurt him terribly, again and again, during the past few days – and it was going to take him a while to get past it, even enough to begin to deal with it.

They needed to talk it through – but if and when they did, it would be on Spike's terms.

For better or worse, no matter what the cost to herself – Buffy was finished with trying to control him.

She had finally learned her lesson, well – and it was the most painful lesson she had ever had to learn.

She just hoped it would not cost her everything that she held dear.

Spike had been driving for about an hour when he finally stopped the car, in a clear, moonlight patch of open desert. He glanced at the clock on his cell phone as he turned the key in the ignition to turn the engine off.

It was 4:00 in the morning.

"We should have a few hours yet until Dawn, pet," he told Buffy, speaking aloud without thinking about it. "This late in the fall, sun up shouldn't be 'til about seven," he guessed.

We're in the middle of the desert…it might come a little earlier than you're expecting, she reminded him, anxiety rising in her voice.

Don't let that worry you, pet, he told her, his voice much more optimistic and encouraging than it had been nearly an hour earlier. I don't expect this is going to take nearly that long…that Slayer thing in your body can't take much pain, love – I'll have her begging for mercy and willing to submit long before dawn…

Buffy's silence made her doubts clear, though she was hesitant to say what she was thinking.

He knew – and he knew that she had a point.

His over-confidence had cost him the victory in too many fights – many of them against the very same body, if not the same person, that he was about to face tonight.

But tonight – he intended to let it work for him, not against him.

He got out of the car and moved around to the trunk, readying his key to open it. He considered for a moment, preparing himself for what he would face when he did. Her silence concerned him; he thought it highly unlikely that she would still be unconscious after so long. She had already proved that she was stronger than Buffy usually was, physically, and he would have expected her to be fighting to escape by now.

Unless of course – she was saving her strength.

Well, he said with a grim smile of expectancy, nothing for it but to open Pandora's soddin' box, and find out what it holds.

He was not surprised when Buffy did not say anything in response; however, he could feel her own emotional tension and uncertainty as strongly as he felt his own.

He slowly inserted the key in the lock of the trunk, stepping back immediately to ready himself for the attack he was sure would quickly come. He knew that no matter how much better the Slayer was feeling now, he would have the advantage in this situation.

It just remained to be seen if she had figured that out yet or not.

He watched her carefully as the trunk lid popped open, and his excellent night vision revealed her still form to him. He knew it was highly unlikely that she was still unconscious – so he did not let down his guard a bit, as he waited for her to react.

After a moment, her eyes opened, and she stared out into the darkness, though he could not be sure if she could see him or not. It was a clear, moonlit night in the desert, but she was likely very disoriented from the events of the night thus far.

And then – he saw it, in the moment when her eyes locked on his, meeting his cool cautious gaze with defiance and anger. When she realized that he knew she was awake, and was waiting for her – she would not be able to fool him on that count – the Slayer began to climb awkwardly and painfully from the trunk of the car, until she stood on the ground – obviously favoring her wounded leg.

"Morning, Sunshine," he said in a voice of soft mockery, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The blonde vampire's gold-flecked blue eyes were narrowed in menace and cruel intent, as he began to move slowly toward her. "Sleep well?"

"Shut up and fight," she snarled with bitter resentment, her body tensing in anticipation of the attack she knew he was about to unleash upon her. She was still weakened from their earlier fight, and had to know that he had the advantage in the scenario.

Still, she taunted him onward.

"You sure you want me to do that, love?" he taunted her right back, his voice low and menacing. His tone made it clear that he had no doubt in his mind of who was going to win this fight, as he took another couple of slow, measured steps across the sand toward her.

She did not respond, only allowed her body to take on a defensive fighting stance, one that came naturally to her after many nights of fighting such creatures as Spike – and as herself, now. She was ready for him, whatever the outcome of the battle might be.

Because there was something about her condition that he was not aware of.

She was determined not to allow him to send her back to her prison, no matter what the cost – and yet, he was just as determined to send her there. She began to move slowly, stiffly toward him, though her movements betrayed her pain.

The Slayer and the vampire, circling slowly in the sand, preparing for the battle of their lives, the battle for control – for dominance – for freedom – equal in their determination to win, if not in their ability to do so.

But only one of them could.

In the silver sands, in the few remaining hours of darkness – the struggle for mastery began again.


	79. Chapter 79

Spike watched the Slayer carefully as he slowly advanced on her, ready to cut off her escape if she tried to move away from the car, behind her at the moment. As long as she was penned in on both sides, he held at least a slight advantage, if only in position.

Besides – he much preferred having her where he could see every little move she made.

Fortunately, she did not have quite the same advantage when it came to seeing him. Her eyes were still adjusting to the moonlit night shadows that surrounded them, peering out into the darkness to make out his black-shrouded form. Only the bright platinum top of his head made him visible to her at all.

"Come on, Baby," she taunted him, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you waiting for? Let's do this, already!"

Spike smiled with secretive amusement. He was a very experienced fighter, having over a century's worth of said experience, and he knew that she was just trying to goad him, trying to push him into making his move on her terms – but he would make his move when he was bloody well good and ready.

She was terrified, barely holding on to her own control; every sense he possessed was telling him that.

She was experienced in torture and cruelty, but apparently not in actual combat with an opponent who actually had a chance at defeating her. Her unwillingness to place herself in a situation where she had to face an enemy with strength equal to her own was proof enough of that. Her demeanor, her tone, everything about her stance screamed, "Let's just get this over with, one way or the other."

The anticipation, for her, was worse than the reality; it was driving her out of her mind.

But Spike planned on taking his sweet time.

His years spent under the control of Angelus, Darla and Dru had not been utterly wasted, though they had been little more than an experiment in torment and cruelty. He had learned how to draw out the fear, the agony of anticipation, in a victim, until it took only the slightest touch of actual pain to utterly break the victim's will.

True, in most cases during these lessons, he had played the part of the victim in question – but still, now, he found himself inclined to thank his grand-sire for the lesson.

By the time he was through with the Slayer, she would be begging for release from the mortal body she had imprisoned herself in. And when that time came, he and Buffy, together, would gladly claim dominance over her, sending her fleeing desperately back to her former prison – wherever that might happen to be.

But for now, she was still defiant as ever, glaring at him as he edged almost imperceptibly nearer to her.

"Come on, Spike!" she sneered. "You broke my leg, remember? When you threw me off a building? You've already beaten the crap out of me, and you're still afraid to fight me?"

Her tone became cruel and full of a sadistic amusement that had become all too familiar to the blonde vampire over the past few days, as she remarked, "I guess I really did a number on you, didn't I, Baby? Traumatized for life, now, aren'tcha?" Her lower lip jutted out in a mocking pout of feigned sympathy, "Poor little Spikey – never gonna be the same…"

Her words had their desired effect – though he had no idea why she would desire it – as he suddenly lunged toward her, grabbing her around the throat and slamming her backward so that the back of her head hit the half-raised trunk lid with a painful impact. He jerked her back away from it for a moment, slamming the trunk closed behind her before shoving her back against it again with breathtaking force.

"I've been through a lot worse than you could ever dish out, love!" he informed her in a low, menacing growl, blazing golden eyes meeting hers in fury. "Don't think for one bloody second that I'm afraid of you – because I'm not!" he declared hotly.

It infuriated him that she was still smiling, her green eyes glittering back up at him defiantly, as she shrugged carelessly, and gasped out against the restraining hand still at her throat, "Your mistake."

It only dawned on him then, that so far, she had made no move to attack him, or to fight back at all, when he had closed the distance between them. She had allowed him to move in close, even when he tossed her about like a rag doll – completely unresistant to his brutal manhandling.

He realized the truth a moment later, cursing his own foolishness silently. It was as he had suspected earlier. She had been saving her strength – saving it for just the right moment, when she could do the most damage.

A moment like now.

She brought her supposedly injured leg up sharply between his legs – and he just barely managed to pull back in time to avoid what would have been a crippling blow.

He barely had time to wonder why this particular creature seemed to have such an affinity for going after his manly bits, when the foot attached to her clearly not injured leg hooked behind his ankle as he stepped back, throwing him off balance and knocking him to the ground, flat on his back.

She pounced without hesitation, crouching over him on her hands and knees, grappling for his wrists in an attempt to restrain him – and he knew that if she managed to get a good hold on him, it would be next to impossible to break her grip. She had the advantage of position now, and she was clearly feeling much better.

He realized with a grim certainty that he was most definitely in for the fight of his life.

He had killed two Slayers before – but this was different.

Both of those girls had had the strength and agility and skill that naturally came with the Slayer package – but in the end, it was their humanity that had been their undoing. Human emotions, human exhaustion and sorrow and depths of feeling that this creature before him could never hope to understand – those things were what had caused both Slayers to succumb to his assault and give in to the death wish that they probably had not even known they possessed until those fateful nights of their deaths.

This creature before him had none of those frailties.

True, if he could gain the upper hand and manage to hurt her, he would be well on the way to defeating her. She could not take much pain. But she was incredibly strong, fast, unbelievably powerful – and quite possibly the most formidable opponent Spike had ever faced. She was a pure Slayer, no trace of humanity in her save the body she inhabited.

Which – in another cruel twist of fate that served as another factor not exactly in his favor – just happened to be the body, and face, of the woman he loved.

He would just have to get past it.

He would have to get past the voice in the back of his head, telling him that this was more than he could do – past the fear of facing this creature that had so thoroughly decimated him only hours earlier – past the horror and sick revulsion at the thought of breaking and bruising the body of the love of his life…

He just had to – or they were all doomed.

He jerked his wrist out of her hand, just as she managed to catch it, knowing that once she had him restrained, it would be all over. As she lunged after him to steady her grip, lowering her torso and head over him, nearer to his mouth, he lunged upward toward her, fangs extended toward her throat.

Caught off guard, her eyes widening in surprise and fear, the Slayer scrambled backward, not wanting to allow him to get his fangs into her flesh and weaken her again -- and Spike used the opportunity to push her backward off of him and struggle to his feet.

Immediately she threw herself toward him again, intent on using her sheer strength to force him back down – but he was ready for her this time. Just as she reached him, a forceful backhand fell across her jaw, knocking her a few steps back. A follow up to her ribcage left her gasping as she struggled to catch her breath enough to retaliate – and Spike smiled slowly.

Breath – that was something that he, thankfully, did not need.

He had no intention of allowing her the chance to recover.

While she was still trying to regain her balance after his most recent assault, Spike rallied all the strength he could muster after this terribly exhausting night, and let loose with a fresh volley of blows, raining indiscriminately upon the unprepared Slayer, driving her backward across the sand, until he had her once again pinned between his body and the hard, unyielding metal of the car.

She struggled blindly, futilely, against him, still unable to recover enough to form a decent counter-attack – just trying to defend herself, as he punched her again, with a hard fist across her face, knocking the back of her head hard against the car.

The quiet, disoriented moan of pain that left the Slayer's lips was like the sweetest music the blonde vampire had ever heard, and he could not help the vicious smile that rose to his lips, as she stopped struggling, weakened by the beating he had dealt her. It was all she could manage just to deal with the screaming of her senses with the unfamiliar sensations of pain coursing through her borrowed body.

"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" he asked with a smile that was almost pleasant, as he gripped her hair and yanked her head backward hard, twisting his hand in her disheveled blonde locks to increase the strength of his hold – and her sense of helplessness. "The pain a bit much for you? You know – you could always let go…"

She tried to shake her head, though she still seemed a bit dazed and had not yet opened her eyes. "No," she moaned, her voice a bit slurred from the blows she had taken to the head. "No – won't…"

"Oh, yes, you will, pet," he assured her, his voice low and soft and terrifyingly enthralling – a tone that was both deadly and mesmerizing. "I can promise you that. The only variables in this bloody picture are how long it takes – and how much of you is left when you do submit to me!"

The Slayer opened bleary, red-rimmed eyes of shimmering jade to meet his – and the terror he saw there was breathtaking.

The fact that it was in the shining eyes of the woman he loved was more than a little disconcerting; but Spike had to recognize that had it been a different person, only a few short weeks ago – one of the countless nameless, faceless victims he had taken over the course of the last century – he would have relished the scent, the sight, of the overwhelming fear that she was so clearly experiencing.

The fact that this was his torturer, his enemy, made it only that much more sweet.

"You'll never make me do it," she rasped out, glaring up at him, though tears of frustration, fear, and pain shone in her eyes. "You won't – I'll die first, and take her with me!"

His too-expressive blue eyes must have shown something of his hesitation at those chilling words, because a weak, trembling smile rose to the Slayer's lips, as she held his gaze defiantly. "Don't so much like the sound of that, do you, Baby?" she observed with a smirk. "Don't wanna hurt your own mate, do you? Maybe you'd better back off, before she ends up dead!"

Spike knew that what she was saying was a very distinct possibility. He and Buffy really had no way of knowing how the whole thing would work, what with Buffy being in his body and all. If the Slayer died, it was highly likely that Buffy would die as well – or at the very least, live, but be trapped within his body forever.

That was not a terribly pleasant thought.

Still – the Slayer could not know just how ignorant of the specifics of what they had done he and his mate were.

Spike forced a smug smile to his lips as he boldly stared her down. "I s'pose that's why it's a bloody good thing that she's in here and not in there, then, ain't it, pet?" he mused. "I don't have to worry about hurting her -- I can just take my time and enjoy hurting you."

Her eyes widened slightly, and he took satisfaction in the fact that she had fallen for his words. She did not have any of her own – completely lost for a response.

"Unless of course – you're ready to submit," he suggested softly, his smile fading to a serious expression, as he drew her head back farther, pushing closer to her, pressing her back over the car.

He felt it as she tried to raise her leg to attack him – but he would not fall for the same trick twice. Before she could really move, he had shifted his leg, raising it slightly to pin both of hers in place, as he leaned in closer to her throat.

"You challenged me – Spike -- William the Bloody -- master of the line of Aurelius, to defend my liberty – my own right over my own will – claiming it to be your own," he stated in a soft, even voice that held her attention – echoing the earlier words of her spoken, formal claim. A wicked glint formed in his eyes as he moved in closer, his face inches from hers, as he went on in a whisper.

"But now – it's you who must defend your own freedom, pet – or give it up completely…"

"Why would I ever do that?" she demanded in a voice that trembled with fear and anger, glaring up at him with a defiance that was looking more and more empty every moment. "Why would I willingly surrender my very existence – my liberty – to you?"

"Because, pet," he replied without hesitation, his lips parting to reveal his glistening, deadly fangs, poised to once again break her tender flesh, "you'll find that freedom has its price…"

Without warning, he plunged his fangs downward into her shoulder, tearing slowly down in an agonizing attack that left her screaming in pain and outrage – and stark, absolute terror…

…for there was no one about to hear her screams, to come to her aid.

She was all alone, against a creature that at this moment, held her life in his power.

Spike drew back to see her wide, shocked eyes staring at him in horror and pain – pain greater than she had expected to feel – greater than he had expected her to feel. He thought again how much it was working to his advantage that the Slayer was so pitifully prepared to deal with the frailties that came along with humanity.

He leaned in even nearer to her, holding her gaze firmly, unflinchingly, with a certainty in his eyes that told her that he was nowhere near backing down, no matter how much damage she forced him to inflict on his mate's body. A slow smile of triumph formed on his face, as he asked her a question – the question of the hour – in a low, hypnotic voice.

"What do you think, pet – is your freedom worth its price?"


	80. Chapter 80

As Joyce pointedly, emphatically hung up the phone, tossing it down onto the bed behind her with much more force than was necessary, Dawn looked up at her mother anxiously through tear-filled blue eyes.

"Mom? What is it? Are they okay?" she asked, her small, young voice trembling, sounding on the verge of total panic.

"Yes," Joyce assured her, sounding exhausted and a bit faint – then frowned and corrected, "no – maybe – I don't know, Dawnie," she admitted finally in a trembling, helpless voice, struggling to keep back her own tears as she sank down onto the edge of the bed, the back of he hand pressed against her own mouth in an attempt to hold back the sob that rose in her throat.

Dawn's eyes widened as her fears for Spike and Buffy's safety momentarily receded, and she realized that her mother was seriously in need of some comfort at the moment, as well. Joyce's tone made it clear that for now, according to whatever Spike had told her – he and Buffy were okay.

Joyce, on the other hand…apparently, not so much.

"Mommy?" she said uncertainly, standing and moving across the room to stand beside her mother and put her arms around Joyce's shaking shoulders. "Mom? What's the matter?"

Brilliant question, genius, she immediately chided herself, aware that at the moment, what was right would have been a lot easier for Joyce to express.

Dawn's gentle, tentative touch seemed to remind Joyce that she was the adult in the situation, and she could not afford to break down now – for her youngest daughter's sake. She squared her shoulders resolutely,pasting on a brave smile as she met Dawn's wide, fearful eyes.

"It's all right, Sweetie," she assured her. "It's just – an awful lot has happened these past few days, and – and it's just getting to be…"

"Too much," Dawn finished for her, understanding perfectly what she was saying.

Joyce shifted over slightly on the bed, so that there was room for Dawn to sit down beside her, and wrapped her arm around her daughter so that they were offering each other mutual comfort, for the pain and confusion that they had experienced during the past few days – mostly overlooked, due to the considerably greater trauma that Spike, and even Buffy, had been experiencing.

Joyce raised her hand slowly to run it through her daughter's long, dark hair, smooth as silk, and very soothing under her trembling fingertips. "Too much," she agreed softly, nodding – her voice much calmer now, but still sounding very, very tired. "Just – an awful lot to deal with in -- two days!"

There was an odd little ironic laugh in her voice on the end of the words, as she realized what a brief space of time it had taken to completely change their lives.

Dawn found herself laughing, too, through her tears.

It all seemed like an insane dream – it could not possibly all have happened in the past forty-eight hours. She felt a desperate surge of hope that she knew already was futile at that thought.

Maybe that would explain it all, she thought with a mental shrug. Makes a lot more sense than my sister's body being taken over by some evil creature and trying to kill me, and my not even being real, but some weird thing created by magic – not really even a real person…

"Honey?" Her mother's soft voice broke into her troubling thoughts, and she tried to return the concerned, encouraging smile that was now directed at her. "Is there – something else that's wrong? Something you're not telling me?"

"Like what?" Dawn shrugged, looking away from her mother's far-too-perceptive gaze. "Like there's not enough wrong already, Mom – and you know all about it," she pointed out in a carefully calm voice.

Joyce was quiet for another long moment, clearly considering her daughter's words, and whether or not to accept them as truth. After a moment's thought, she asked quietly, "What did Buffy have to say to you – before? About – how you can beat this thing? What is it about you, Dawnie – that makes this thing so afraid?"

Dawn was quiet, not sure how to respond – only sure that she could not tell her mother the whole truth – not yet. She was not even sure yet how she was taking the news of her – er, unconventional – creation. What would her mother think when she told her?

But then, a part of her desperately longed to open up to her mother, the one person in the world that she trusted more than anyone else. No matter what Buffy had told her, how she had come into being – this was her mother…she would always love her, no matter what – wouldn't she?

Suddenly, the idea of telling her mother everything that Buffy had told her, accepting the comfort that only Joyce would be able to – had always been able to – give her, seemed to be the most inviting, tempting idea that Dawn had had in a long time.

She opened her mouth to speak – not even sure yet what exactly was going to come out of her mouth when she did.

Just at that moment, before a single word could leave Dawn's lips – they heard a light knocking at the door. Mother and daughter exchanged a wide-eyed, worried look – wondering who it could possibly be.

The only two possibilities they would have considered were in Spike's DeSoto, headed across the desert – nowhere near the motel.

Joyce motioned for Dawn to stay put, and rose slowly and silently from the bed, making her way toward the door. She swore quietly to herself when she realized that there was no peep-hole in the door, to look out and see who was there. She moved to the window to glance out – and in precisely that moment, before she did, she heard the short series of clicks and turns that indicated a terrible fact.

Someone was unlocking the door.

Joyce stepped back instinctively, placing herself between the opening door and her young daughter, in a defensive stance that she knew she had little power to back up, if it came to it. Her mind raced with panic, her heart pounding as she wondered frantically who could have possibly managed to get a copy of their room key.

"Mommy?" Dawn's small, frightened voice spoke up from behind her, as the girl stood up from the bed and faced the door, wide, fearful eyes focused on it to see who would enter.

The tweed-suited, middle aged man who strolled slowly and confidently into the room did not look physically all that intimidating. In fact, he rather looked to be the same sort as Giles.

However, the two younger, dark-suited men who followed him appeared much stronger, and more dangerous, than he did.

All the more so for the fact that they were leading Buffy's watcher between them, supporting him on either side – most likely because he did not appear to be in any condition to even walk of his own volition. His face was badly bruised, and he was bleeding from an alarmingly large cut above his brow; and he appeared barely conscious as the two younger men led him to the bed nearest the door and helped him to lie down, with disconcerting courtesy.

"Mr. Giles!" Joyce gasped. "What – what happened? Who – who are you people?" Her voice was indignant and defensive, and as she spoke she stepped back a bit, nearer to her daughter, but keeping herself between the strangers and Dawn protectively.

"Please stay calm, Mrs. Summers," the older man advised her in a calm, polite voice that was still a bit alarming in its coolness. "I assure you we mean you no harm."

Joyce's eyes were fixed on the battered, slack face of the man that her older daughter had come to view as a father, concern and compassion overtaking the anger she had felt with him earlier in the evening.

"Somehow I'm finding that hard to believe," she said flatly.

A small, tight, and decidedly unpleasant smile met her words, as the man conceded her words with a small nod. "Yes, I can see how you would. But again I assure you – we have no intention of harming you – or your daughter." He paused before adding in the same calm, frightening tone, "That does not, of course, mean that we will not – if the necessity should arise."

Joyce was silent, her heart turning over in her chest at the clear threat in his words, as she allowed them to sink in.

"I can't possibly imagine why it would be necessary for three grown men to hurt an unarmed woman and child," Joyce pointed out, her own voice like cold steel, as she faced down the men boldly, determined that no matter what happened, they would not hurt Dawn. "I don't even know who you people are – or what you want with us…"

"Forgive me, dear lady," the older man interrupted with a rueful smile. "How terribly rude of me…allow me to introduce myself. My name is Quentin Travers – and I am the head of the Watcher's Council. Your daughter is my Slayer."

"The Slayer is my daughter," Joyce corrected him in a severe tone, one eyebrow raised in a dangerous challenge. "I fail to see how she's your anything."

"Well, I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree on that point, and simply come to the answer to your second question – what it is that we want from you…" Travers went on, dismissive of her words.

Joyce looked at him with remarkable calm, though a sense of dread came over her at the realization that whatever it was that they wanted, it could not possibly be good for Buffy in any way.

"Just a simple phone call, Mrs. Summers – to alert your daughter to the fact that we're all waiting for her, right here – that's all I ask. Doesn't sound like much – does it?" Travers' smile was like a shark's – cold and deadly and utterly emotionless.

"No." Joyce's answer was simple, and unyielding.

"Well, my dear lady, I would advise you to reconsider," Travers told her, his expression hardening slightly, "considering this – a simple phone call to Buffy Summers was all we asked of Mr. Giles, as well – and he also refused. Of course – you seem to be every bit as resolved as he was – but then – I'm sure there are ways of getting around that…"

As he spoke, one of the two younger men headed toward Dawn, who backed away in fear, whimpering quietly, "Mom…"

"Wait…" Joyce said immediately, thinking fast. At this point, their only chance of getting out of this at all lay with Spike, and Buffy – assuming that the ritual was nearly finished, and her daughter would soon be herself again.

Perhaps in this case, what the Council wanted, was also what was in their best interest.

And regardless – she could not allow them to hurt Dawn.

"Okay," she agreed quietly, holding the older man's gaze firmly, anger and disgust in her eyes. "I'll make the call."

Spike could feel the Slayer's fear radiating off of her – knew that she was mere minutes, or less, from her breaking point. He had already won – it was just a matter of pushing just a little bit harder, edging her nearer to the edge of surrender, until she went tumbling helplessly over and said the fateful words.

Perhaps it would take just a tiny bit more convincing.

Vicious anger flashing in his golden eyes, Spike lowered his fangs to her throat, tearing into her already torn flesh without regard to her pain. The Slayer gasped out a strangled cry of pain, pulling weakly against him – though by this point, there was no way that she could break his grip.

"Stop!" she cried out in near panic. "Stop, stop it!"

"You want me to stop, pet?" Spike asked, drawing back with a cruel smile. "Do you really? You ready to submit to me?"

He could see it in her eyes – the despair – the defeat.

She was there.

She was ready to submit to him.

The sense of elation he felt was short-lived at best.

The shrill, familiar tone of Buffy's cell phone ringing cut into stillness that had fallen between them, and drew Spike's attention momentarily toward the car. The open windows of his car made the sound clearly heard – and he knew that there was likely only one of two people who would be calling Buffy's phone just now.

The question was – why?

Oh, God, Spike! Mom and Dawnie! Do you think… Buffy's words in his head trailed off, before she expressed her fears.

But he already knew what she was thinking. Giles had let them know that the Council was on their trail, trying to find them and settle the problem their way – which most likely involved the elimination of the Slayer in question, as well as anyone else who might pose an inconvenience as far as they were concerned.

No – couldn't be… Spike assured her – though he was not at all sure himself.

His momentary distraction cost him – dearly.

His attention was drawn back to the fight, when the Slayer finally landed the blow she had been attempting all night, drawing her knee up sharply between his legs – and sending a blinding, crippling pain through him that drove all thoughts of Joyce and Dawn and the Council from his mind – for the moment.

She used his weakness of the moment to push him back away from her, and he stumbled backward, his hand covering his injured groin, as she struck again, across his face. The blow was no where near as hard as it would have been had he not managed to weaken her so much already.

But it was every bit as hard as she needed it to be.

The vampire staggered backward another step, trying in vain to maintain his footing – until she lunged at him, knocking him to the sand beneath her, reaching as she did so to take something from her back pocket.

A stake.

You had to bring a bloody stake with you, didn't you, pet? he groaned at his mate, even his mental voice a bit slurred and disoriented with the pain that was just beginning to fade.

Hello? Vampire Slayer? Buffy shot back. I've always got a stake with me! Spike, Honey – get up! You've got to…

The point of the weapon pierced his chest, directly over his heart, hovering there without finishing the killing blow – yet – but effectively centering his attention on his opponent…who at the moment, clearly had the upper hand.

"Well, Baby," she smirked, her voice soft but deadly, her eyes hazy with pain, yet glittering with a cruel, feral triumph. "I was wondering how it was going to end. Looks like it ends here – doesn't it?"


	81. Chapter 81

"There's no answer," Joyce informed Travers in a cold, even voice, flipping her phone closed and staring defiantly at the man who seemed so mild-mannered and unintimidating, and yet was creating a terrible threat to her and her entire family.

He did not looked pleased by her words – or convinced.

"May I see your telephone please, Mrs. Summers?" he asked politely, though his tone left no room for refusal. "I'd like to try the call again. Perhaps Miss Summers was – otherwise distracted…"

You don't know the half of it, Joyce thought darkly, wishing fervently that these men could have had the opportunity to have met with her daughter's dangerous, evil alter-ego. But by now, hopefully, Spike was in the midst of defeating her – which was the most likely reason why Buffy's phone had gone unanswered.

"If she still does not answer the phone," Travers said, scrolling down the list of numbers in the phone until he found Buffy's, and dialing it quickly before holding the phone up to his ear, "I'll simply leave her a message. We have time to wait." He listened to the phone ring as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, a smug, disapproving sarcasm in his words.

"After all – she's alone with the vampire, isn't she? How busy could she possibly be?"

Joyce felt her temper rising at the insultingly pointed tone of his words. He was clearly making a veiled comment about her daughter's seeming propensity for taking vampires as lovers. But that was completely not fair! she thought indignantly. There had only been the – two, after all – and anyway – now Buffy and Spike were mated, so it was not like there were going to be any more.

Her eyes narrowed in anger on the distasteful little man. How dare he insinuate that her daughter was some kind of – of vampire slut!

Travers was utterly unaware of her rising temper – and probably would not have given it a second thought, if he had been aware of it. Buffy's voicemail had just picked up, and he frowned in disappointment as he listened impatiently to the pleasant message.

"Miss Summers," he said calmly after a few moments, "This is Quentin Travers. I'm at the Roadside Inn where your mother and sister are staying – in their room, actually. They, and your Watcher, as well as myself and some – colleagues – would all very much like to speak with you at your very earliest convenience. If you would kindly return here as soon as possible, Miss Summers. There are some matters of great importance which we wish to discuss with you."

Without saying goodbye, or giving out any further information, Travers closed the phone and tossed it casually onto the bed, beside Buffy's nearly unconscious Watcher – who was just beginning to stir a bit.

Joyce frowned with concern as he wearily opened his eyes, letting out a low moan of disoriented pain. She glared back up at Travers with disgust and contempt, as she asked in a voice that was much softer than the expression on her face, "Would you allow me to help him?"

Travers shrugged carelessly, as he sat down in the chair beside the bed and visibly relaxed somewhat. Dawn rose from the bed across the room with a startled little cry, as one of the two men casually made his way toward her – but all he did was sit down on the side of the bed and pick of the remote control for the television.

Apparently – they were prepared to wait as long as they needed to for Buffy to return.

"Do as you like, Mrs. Summers," Travers replied coolly. "We've some time to wait, it appears. Pass it as you will."

Joyce glanced behind her at the man who was now sitting on the bed a few yards away from her nervous daughter, contenting herself that he did not pose a threat – for the moment – before moving slowly to sit down on the side of the bed where Giles lay. Her pretty, graceful features softened with compassion as she took in the terrible condition he was in.

Though she did her best to keep it from Buffy, she had always held a certain measure of affection for the thoughtful, intelligent man who attempted to appear much more stuffy and unemotional than he could ever really be – and who would gladly have given his own life to protect that of her daughter.

And apparently, he had come quite close to doing that. If what Travers said was true, based on the conversation Buffy had had with Giles earlier, he had attempted to play things cool with the Council while they were in town, but they had somehow gotten wise to the fact that they were being played. And when they had tried to coerce him into laying a trap for his Slayer, he had refused – and this was the result.

He had been severely beaten, his face badly bruised and his clothes torn and bloodied in places from the rough handling that had apparently been dealt him by the two henchmen accompanying the Council leader. And in Joyce's opinion, no two strong, young, capable men such as these two should ever exert such unnecessary violence against someone so much older than them, and therefore not capable of defending himself against them.

Her eyes narrowed in anger as she looked back up at Travers, whose cool, remorseless eyes were focused on the television screen.

"How could you do this?" she demanded in a quiet, slightly trembling voice of intense accusation. "How can you call yourself a – a defender of what is good and right – when you are capable of – of allowing something like this to happen?"

"My dear lady," Travers replied with exaggerated patience, giving her a smile that he probably thought passed as gracious – though she saw it as nothing more than wicked and deceptive. "We do what we must, to ensure the safety of the entire world, at times…and if that means sacrificing the – comfort, or well being of one individual – well, then – so be it."

"Even if that one individual happens to be one of your own," Joyce finished with clear disgust in her voice, looking away from the smug, self-righteous man – so sure of his own right to do just what he had done.

Travers surprised her with a quiet, controlled laugh of surprise, and she looked back up at him to see him looking at her with bemusement. "Mrs. Summers," he corrected, shaking his head slightly, "Mr. Giles is hardly one of our own – not anymore."

Joyce held his gaze for a moment longer – and what she read there was intensely troubling. She knew very well, though she had forgotten for the moment, that Mr. Giles had been fired by the Council, and therefore was probably no longer deemed deserving of any loyalty or protection from them.

But that line of thought led her to a much more disturbing idea – one that she had already thought of, but that was made much more real and frightening by Travers' words.

If they were willing to viciously beat a former Watcher – who was only no longer working for them by their own decision – for the "good of the world"…

…what would they be willing to do with a defiant, uncontrollable Slayer, who had willingly quit their service?

Joyce was reminded with a chill of grim certainty – even if the ritual was successfully completed, and Buffy was saved from the invader within her own body – that would by no means mean that she was safe.

"Guess this is it, huh, Baby?" the Slayer smirked down at the blonde vampire, pinned helplessly beneath her, one hand trapped under his own body, and the other pinned tightly above his head with her free hand. "This is the part where you either submit to me – or you die."

She shrugged carelessly, pressing the tip of the stake in her hand just a bit harder against his already broken skin, adding, "And to tell you the truth – at this point I really don't care which. It's up to you, Baby."

"See – that's the thing, pet," Spike returned her smirk without fear, though his mind was racing, trying to come up with a way out of this perilous situation. "There really isn't any bloody option, love. You may have forgotten – but I can't lose this to you! Not really…I can make you submit to me, but you can never make me submit to you – remember?"

"Hmmm," she mused thoughtfully, apparently untroubled by his words. She was obviously feeling much more confident now that she had regained the upper hand, and he was making no real attempt to fight her at the moment, his restrained wrist above his head ceasing its struggles to free itself. "Yes – I do remember." She paused for a moment, before shrugging again, carelessly. "Pity. Oh, well. Guess it's time for you to die, then."

The hard, flippant tone of her voice sent a shudder down his spine as he was reminded again of just how easily this creature could take his life, with absolutely no second thought at all.

Spike, Buffy spoke urgently in his mind. Remember how I beat you? The first time? You were about to kill me, in the mansion – and…

Spike suddenly felt very sick at the thought of what his mate was suggesting. After the night he had spent at this creature's mercy, enduring her torturous whims and degrading sexual attentions – the last thing he wanted to do was feign attraction to her.

He wasn't even sure that he could.

Think about it, Spike! Buffy pressed him, gently but unrelentingly. If she reacts so much more strongly to pain – because she's not used to feeling it – maybe it works the same way – with pleasure…if you can just get her distracted enough…maybe…

All right, love…I'll try, he conceded reluctantly, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to gather his strength. Not gonna be easy though…

He opened his eyes to see the Slayer, smiling expectantly down at him, a puzzled look in her eyes. Only a few brief moments had passed, but still, he wondered why she had not yet made any move to kill him.

"What are you waiting for, pet?" he asked, lowering his voice to a soft, sultry tone, meeting her eyes and smiling slowly, as he slowly raised his leg between hers, then moved it down again, and then back up, edging nearer to the sensitive spot between her legs. "For me to beg for mercy? Plead for my soddin' unlife?"

The Slayer drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes as her head fell back slightly for a moment, before she deliberately lowered her head to meet his eyes again, a slow, seductive smile to match his own on her face.

"Well, actually," she admitted with a little shrug, "yeah."

Spike let a low, rumbling chuckle escape his throat, as he slowly rotated his hips, pressing his body up against hers, raising his leg again slightly – and was rewarded by the tell-tale scent of her arousal, betraying the effect he was beginning to have on her.

"Sorry, pet – not gonna happen. I don't beg. Least – not for my life," he amended with a wicked little grin.

"What's with this little change of heart?" the Slayer demanded suddenly, her smile fading a bit as she suddenly lifted herself up off of him, her grip on his wrist tightening slightly. "I thought you hated me, Baby…why are you suddenly all about getting with me?"

Spike shrugged slightly, still holding her gaze with an unapologetic little smile, as he admitted, "Maybe I'm just stalling for time – putting off the moment when you take me out. Because let's face it, pet – we both know you've won." He paused, before adding in a low, seductive voice, his expression becoming serious, "Or maybe – maybe if I've got to bloody go out – I'd like to go out in the throes of the sweetest pleasure a man can know, instead of pain…"

As he spoke, he lifted his hips up off the ground, with an effort bringing his body back into contact with hers, rotating slowly against her until he felt her respond, moving slightly with him, relaxing her body back down against him and allowing the touch.

" 'Less of course – you'd rather not extend – that particular mercy," he went on, his voice sounding slightly breathless with feigned pleasure, as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back in the semblance of losing himself to the pleasure that he knew she was feeling – even if in reality, he was not.

He knew that that particular moment was likely the most dangerous one of this little plan – as she could choose not to accept his offer, to stake him right then and there, and he would not even see it coming.

But the Slayer did not seem inclined to stake him – not yet.

As his body moved against hers, he heard her let out a soft little moan, before she lowered her head, opening her eyes with an effort to meet his, as he raised his head as well.

"What the heck," she muttered breathlessly, her forehead resting against his as she slowly moved up and down with him. "One last dance, eh, Baby?"

Spike smiled at her ironic choice of words – precisely the ones he would have chosen, given the chance. "Yeah," he whispered. "One last dance…"

He closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on his mate, as he tried to ready himself more fully for the act that was to come. He knew that timing was crucial; everything would have to happen at the perfect time, if he and Buffy were going to pull this off properly.

But first – he had to get the Slayer to lose her control.

At the moment – it did not appear that that would be a problem.

Buffy's cell phone rang for the second time, in the car – but neither of them even heard it. The Slayer was lost to a physical pleasure that was foreign to her, and thus utterly enthralling; and Spike was focusing in on Buffy herself, bringing thoughts of his beautiful mate to his mind to allow him to complete the physical act he knew he would have to.

He felt the Slayer's body above him begin to tremble with her need, and he slowly slid his hand out from under him, resting it lightly at her side. She did not seem to notice that he was partially free, just continued moving with him as he reached a hand between them to unfasten her jeans, and then his.

It was strangely quiet, the desert still and silent around them, neither of them uttering any words of desire or endearment. She was simply lost in the physical passion – and Spike could not have formed such words if he had tried. It was all that he could do to muster up the physical reaction necessary – the emotional reaction was out of the question.

Once the clothes that separated them had been pushed away – but not removed – Spike pushed up gently against her restraining hand, not surprised when she allowed him to move it to her waist, his hands, gentle for the moment, guiding her toward the correct position.

By this point, she was beyond reasoning out the dangers of what she was doing.

After a few moments, Spike took a chance – and swiftly reversed their positions, so that the Slayer was under him. She stilled for a moment, as if in sudden alarm – but before she could react, he had suddenly slid downward, into her – and her entire body was enveloped in a shock of pleasure that consumed her thoughts.

Spike moved over her, in her, for a few moments, allowing the sensations to engulf her more fully – before he made his move.

Suddenly, he stilled his movements over her, shifting into game face and lowering his fangs to her throat, tearing viciously through her flesh.

The Slayer let out a cry of pain, her eyes opening wide in shock and agony, as her hands suddenly scrabbled against him, trying to push him off of her – but he was too strong for her, and would not be pushed away. He caught her hands, pinning them tightly in one of his own, over her head, despite her useless struggles.

Her wide, panicked green eyes looked up, seeking his – and she was chilled by the cold look of menace in his golden eyes as they met her gaze.

"Guess it wasn't quite it, after all, was it, pet?" he mocked her softly, leaning down to whisper in her ear – before allowing his fangs to tear into her neck, just above the bite marks he had just left, eliciting a strangled, terrified scream of pain that was lost in the empty, lonely desert that surrounded them.

"But now it is," he informed her in a low, hushed voice of deadly certainty, raising a hand to fist in her hair and draw her head back sharply, before leaning in close to her again to whisper a menacing growl of command near her ear.

"Say it – you're mine, pet…you submit…you accept the authority of my claim over you…"

"No," she gasped out weakly, but the word was almost a sob, and he knew that it was all but empty.

"Say it!" he snarled, shaking her hard by the grip he had on her hair, the movement jarring and tearing at her wounded throat.

"No, no!" she cried desperately, her terror clear in her voice. "I won't! You can't make me!"

"You can't take the pain, love!" Spike reminded her in a vicious, pitiless sneer near her ear. "You couldn't even take the pleasure…it overwhelms you…it's too much…these human feelings…these human thoughts…you weren't made to have them, love…I'd kill you before I'd let you hurt the ones I love, pet…" He paused before delivering his point in a chilling, deadly whisper.

"Do you really think you could stand the feeling of death? I did…and I can tell you…not much fun, love," Spike informed her. "And I will kill you – if I have to. For the last time, love – before I tear your bloody throat out and watch you die – gasping for air that won't come – drowning in your own blood as it pours down what's left of your throat – with no comfort, nothing but pain in the last moments of your existence…"

His last words were barely audible as he demanded, "Will…you…submit?"

After a long silence in which he scarcely dared to draw the habitual, unnecessary breath that he usually did – she finally responded, in a desolate, broken whisper, barely audible to anyone but a vampire.

"Yes."

"Yes?" he echoed, hardly daring to believe it, inwardly elated, but outwardly cautious. "Yes, you submit? Say it!"

"Yes – I submit," she whispered, her eyes closed, her head turned away, as she waited for the end to come.

Yes! Buffy cheered in his head, thrilled with the outcome. Finish it, Spike – finish it so we can go home…

The Slayer lay still beneath the master vampire, in the silent, cool desert sand, as he completed the act of dominance, verbally claiming his authority over her as he exerted it, until his physical need was spent, and he uttered a growled, emphatic, "Mine!" that he was not sure if she had even heard.

And then, in the moonlit darkness, in the anti-climactic aftermath of the momentous victory – all was still.


	82. Chapter 82

When the haze that followed his – well, less than climactic -- climax had passed over, Spike slowly opened his eyes, lifting his body up off of the Slayer's still, lifeless form. Buffy's body was not moving, not breathing, not betraying any sign of life whatsoever.

Empty.

A sudden sensation of panic gripped him at the terribly disturbing sight. Suddenly, he realized that her pants were still open, her body exposed to the night – and even though he was the only one there to see her, and the body in question was that of his mate – somehow, the thought sickened him, and he felt the sudden need to protect her dignity. With shaking hands he scrambled to refasten her jeans, fighting off the rising fear within him.

Buffy – Buffy, love – please tell me you're…

I'm right here…don't worry, Sweetheart, I'm right here, his mate assured him gently, and there was a clear note of gratitude joining the soft tremor in her quiet voice. He could well imagine that seeing her own body, through his eyes, lying there so still and lifeless – utterly helpless and exposed -- would have to be terribly unsettling.

She's gone, Buffy finally said, an almost awed tone to her voice. You did it, Spike – she's gone…

Gone, he echoed, just trying to make it become real in his mind. He stared down at the beautiful, yet ravaged body of his mate – but then had to avert his eyes. Her utter stillness, combined with the bloody wounds that he had inflicted on her, was just too near to seeing her really dead – and at his own hand, no less.

Funny, he thought, half trying to just change the subject from the thoughts that were filling both of their minds, in his head. Would have thought it'd have been – more dramatic, somehow. Bloody light show, blinding force of power – that sort of thing. You know?

Yeah, Buffy agreed quietly. You just – did what the ritual said to do, and – she left.

Where do you suppose she went? he wondered, his voice low and controlled as he climbed slowly to his feet. Hell?

Only if that's where the Council's been keeping her all this time up until now, Buffy replied grimly. I would assume that, if we reversed Willow's spell, like we were trying to do – it should have just sent her back to wherever she was to begin with. Which should hopefully take the Slayer line back to where it was before I managed to screw it all up -- and hopefully make the Council stop trying to kill me – for the moment.

She paused, and he could almost feel her mental frown. Until the next time I do something to break their stupid rules...

Buffy! Spike remembered suddenly, his eyes raised to look at the car, though he could not actually see the cell phone. The Council…do you think…?

Let's find out, she cut him off tersely, fear in her voice, as she remembered the very likely threat to her family, and Spike rushed them back to the car to find out who had called her phone.

It's Mom's cell, she announced unnecessarily. After all, it was Spike's hand that was holding the phone, his eyes that were reading the numbers. Spike, what if they're hurt?

Shall we call them back?

Check the message first, she suggested, a frantic note edging into her voice. If the Council has her phone…they'll wanna talk to me…they won't trust you, Spike, and all they'll hear is your voice…

They shouldn't bloody trust me! Spike retorted, a dangerous anger rising in his voice. Considering I'd like to tear the lot of them bloody limb from limb!

The message that Travers had left for Buffy only served to increase their anger and fear.

Wanna call back? Spike asked, his fingers ready to dial the number.

No – no need to let them know when we're gonna be there. Maybe we can catch them off guard…we know they're at the motel…let's just go there. Buffy was silent for a moment, before her tearful, suddenly smaller voice spoke again in his head, Oh, Spike – they've got my family…

My family, too, pet, he reminded her gently, as he got back out of the car and went around to the back, lifting her limp body and placing it gently in the backseat of the car. Don't worry – we'll get 'em out of there…the two of us can take 'em…

I have no doubt of that, Buffy assured him, her voice flat, but trembling slightly with fear and uncertainty. It's the fact that at the moment 'the two of us' is actually more like the one of us that has me a little concerned…

Bloody hell.

What? Buffy asked, anxious. She could tell by the sound of his mental voice that something bad had just occurred to him. What is it?

So – Red's spell was what unleashed the Slayer demon – and what turned off my chip – right? Spike questioned slowly, a note of resignation already creeping into his voice.

Oh, no! Buffy realized what he was suggesting with a sense of alarm.

They had successfully reversed the spell and sent the Slayer back to her prison – but had they in the process also reversed Spike's chipless state? Buffy was surprised herself at how much the idea of his being helpless again bothered her. A few days earlier, she would have been relieved that the chip was working again – but not now.

A chipped, helpless vampire would not be of much benefit against Travers' men.

We don't know that yet, she reminded him, with a desperate hope in her voice. I mean – you haven't tried to hurt anyone human -- completely human – since we finished the ritual…

No, we don't know yet, Spike conceded hesitantly. But it only stands to reason, pet…

I know, Buffy cut him off softly, resignation in her quiet words.

With a sinking heart, Buffy began to allow herself to consider the possibility that she would be going into whatever the Council's treacherous leader had planned for her, mostly on her own. She had been taking comfort in the knowledge that she would not be alone – that her mate would be by her side, fighting with her, the whole way.

But perhaps – it was not to be.

Spike's battle was completed, and had been won.

Now – it was Buffy's turn.

"What could possibly be taking her so long?" Travers demanded suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room, broken only by the quiet sound of voices on the television, and the soft of sounds of Joyce's movements on the bed beside Giles, as she gently tended to the wounds that his henchmen had inflicted on him. "One would almost think she didn't care what became of her own family…"

The cruel smile that came over his face as he gave Joyce a speculative look was infuriating to her.

"If you can think that for one single moment," she replied calmly, meeting his eyes without a trace of the upset she was feeling, "then you really don't know anything about my daughter."

"I know all that matters," Travers countered. "She is the only currently active Slayer, and she has allowed her unwise relationships with those around her and dependence on amateur children who know nothing of her calling, to cause the essence of her power to be released – unleashed upon the world, to do irreparable damage. And someone, Mrs. Summers – must be responsible for cleaning up your daughter's mess."

Joyce's eyes flashed fire as she slowly stood up from the bed, holding the man's gaze defiantly. "It seems to me it's more your mess than anyone else's, Mr. Travers," she informed him coldly. "Judging by what I've been told of the Slayer's history -- how she even came into being in the first place. Besides -- you're so eager to clean it up -- makes it seem like you think it's your fault..."

The smug amusement in the man's eyes faded into anger as he glared at her. "It would be wiser, Mrs. Summers, if you would speak more carefully to me…considering the fact that your life, and the lives of all you hold dear are currently in my hands. I can end each and every last one of them with a single spoken command – so it might behoove you to show a little more respect."

There was a moment's silence, as Joyce took in those troubling words, knowing that she should just keep her mouth shut. But she simply couldn't resist one last dig.

"There it is," she said, a light of cool recognition in her blue eyes, a slightly sad smile on her lips as she returned to the bed and the gentle ministrations she was giving to the wounded Watcher.

"There what is?" Travers frowned, confused, and annoyed by her apparent lack of concern about his threats.

"The ugly, dirty killer that's been hiding behind that cultured, self-important mask," she replied without hesitation, looking up to meet the man's eyes boldly, completely unafraid.

In an instant, Travers rose from the chair, fury in his eyes as he stalked across the room to where Joyce knelt on the bed. The woman tensed in anticipation of attack, but did not have time to pull away, as he grabbed her by the hair at the back of her head, spinning her around to face him and drawing back his hand as if to slap her.

She braced herself for the blow, closing her eyes, willing herself not to respond as Dawn screamed out her name in terror. One of Travers' men grabbed the girl and held her back from going to her mother's defense – though all but Dawn herself knew it would have been a futile attempt, anyway.

But Travers did not slap her – just stood there for a moment, frozen in place with the rest of the room, allowing the weight of the unspoken threat to sink in, before he released her suddenly, stepping back a bit.

"You almost caused me to lose my temper, Mrs. Summers," he warned her coldly. "In the future you might wish to choose your words more wisely – else I might have to seek other means of keeping you under control."

His pointed glance in Dawn's direction had a greater effect on the woman than anything he had said or done so far, as her eyes widened in fear, and barely repressed anger. She wanted to demand that he not even think of touching her daughter, lest he deal with her wrath – but Joyce Summers was no fool.

She had no handy battle axe at hand this time around, and she knew that the three men holding them prisoner in this room could kill both her and Dawn before she could manage to do any real damage to even one of them.

"Okay," she conceded softly. "Okay – just – don't hurt her – don't hurt my little girl…"

Travers smiled at the earnest, pleading note to her calm, quiet voice. "I've no intention of it, dear lady," he assured her, turning and striding calmly back towards his chair. "So long as you are able to maintain a modicum of respect."

Joyce nodded slowly, leaning back against the headboard for a moment to regain her composure after the scare he had just given her. Her eyes went immediately to Dawn, who had already been released by the man who had been holding her. As soon as her eyes met her mother's, Dawn rushed across the room to her mother's side, throwing her arms around her and nestling close to her.

"Mom," she whimpered softly against her mother's chest. "Oh, Mommy…"

"Shhh, it's okay, Sweetie," Joyce assured her, trying to absorb most of the impact of her daughter's thoughtless jump onto the bed beside her – but she was unable to keep some of the force from registering with the injured older man lying on the bed beside them.

Giles let out a low groan of pain, shifting slightly and slowly opening his eyes with a little grimace of pain at the bright lights – or maybe it was more due to the painful cut above his eye. He looked up at Joyce and Dawn, and then around the room at their unwelcome guests.

He lowered his head again with a softly muttered, "Bloody hell."

Joyce turned her head to look at him with concern, lowering a hand without thought to brush across his brow. He opened his eyes, meeting hers in surprise at the unexpected tenderness.

When Joyce noticed his reaction, her face flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly moved her hand, and averted her gaze. "How – how are you feeling?" she asked quietly, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Like I've been severely beaten and manhandled into unconsciousness by two pompous, self-important gits who are under the mistaken impression that their greater physical strength is an adequate compensation for their other areas that are lacking," Giles replied without hesitation.

Joyce could not suppress a smile, even as she glanced over at the men in question to be sure they had not heard his quiet words. The last thing the Watcher needed at the moment was more abuse, as he would surely receive if they had heard his resentful words. To her relief, neither one seemed to have heard a thing, their attention focused on the television set across from them.

She looked back at Giles, her smile fading into a puzzled expression at the strangely soft expression in his eyes, still focused on her face, even when she had looked away.

"And like I've awakened from that unconsciousness to find that the loveliest angel of mercy has been tending to my injuries while I slept…" he went on softly. "All in all -- quite better. Thank you for your kindness..."

Joyce's eyes widened slightly, surprised at the note of tenderness to his voice.

In the next instant, the Watcher seemed to realize that he might have said too much – given away too much of the feelings that he still felt – had felt for this woman ever since that fateful night when an old friend and enemy had given him a rare gift, of a night of youth, without the cares that had come with his age.

Ethan, you foolish git – had no idea what you did that night, he thought wryly, quickly averting his eyes from Joyce's perceptive gaze, hopefully before she saw too much for him to manage to cover up.

"…despite the fact that I was the daft berk who got us all into this mess in the first place," he finished his statement in a tone of self-derision and disgust – effectively killing the mood that had been developing between them.

As if just then reminded of the part Giles had played in all of this, Joyce shifted unconsciously away from him a bit, looking away as well. "Yes, well," she replied casually, "I still plan on having a word with you when this is all over – but for now – let's just think about a way out of this…okay?" Her voice was barely over a whisper; she was sure that Travers and his men could not hear what she was saying.

But they could hear that she was saying something.

"Well, Rupert – it appears you're awake…I do hope you're feeling a bit better," Travers commented with a cold, insincere smile. "You were a bit out of sorts when last we spoke."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, the Watcher pulled himself up to a sitting position on the bed and faced his former employer.

"Yes, well – aside from the present company I'm forced to endure – I'm feeling quite a bit more comfortable than I was in the trunk of your bloody car on the drive up here!" he shot back bitterly, glaring at the tweed-clad, smaller man sitting in the chair a few yards from him.

"Well, I assure you, Rupert – I'm no more pleased with the – social arrangement than you are. I'm just ready to get this ugly business taken care of so that we can part company again," Travers said with a dismissive air.

"Right," Giles sneered with clear contempt in his voice for the other man's attempt at deception. "You're just going to let us all go, once we've witnessed the solution you've come up with for this little problem, is that what you expect me to believe?"

Joyce looked at him in alarm, and he met her gaze for a moment intently.

He wanted her to know just exactly what danger she and her family were in – just exactly how deadly Travers could be.

"Giles," Travers began with warning in his voice, not missing the look that had passed between them.

Giles ignored him completely. "You think the answer to the current threat is to kill the innocent young girl that the entity is housed in – and then, to ensure that no one questions your actions…"

"Giles!" Travers snapped, standing up, alarm in his eyes as he took in the rising shock in Joyce's eyes. "Silence!"

Joyce had known on some level that these men intended to harm her daughter – but to hear it stated so bluntly made it all too real for her liking. The solution Quentin Travers had found for the problem was to kill the current Slayer – and start all over again.

Giles, for his part, refused to be silenced before he was good and ready, his voice rising with the heat and anger of his defensive desire to protect those he cared about. He went on as if Travers had not spoken at all.

"…and then, you'd be willing to dispose of all those who were forced to watch you do it, as well. If that's what you mean by our 'parting company', Quentin – when you throw our lifeless bodies into a ditch somewhere along the highway…"

"I warn you, Giles…"

The dangerous note in the man's voice went unheeded by the furious Watcher – even as one of his henchmen rose from the bed across the room and headed slowly toward him.

"…then bloody well say what you mean, you soddin' berk! Stop trying to make it sound so righteous and noble, when you know very well it's not anything of the sort! You take kidnapping and murder and terrorization of innocent women and children and turn it around to say that you're somehow saving the world…when all you're doing is turning into something it needs saving from!"

Travers took a step back, a cold smile on his face – and Joyce noticed it, though Giles didn't.

He was still on a roll.

"You've become the monster, Quentin. And I'm bloody well glad that you no longer see fit to keep company with me. Because you make me well and truly sick…you and your hypocritical, self-righteous evil lies…"

His words were cut off in a moment as the man who had been approaching him reached across where Joyce sat and silenced his words with a vicious blow to the temple with the butt of his gun.

Joyce let out a startled little cry of fear and outrage, as Giles slumped down with a groan of pain, struggling not to lose consciousness. Joyce took a moment to be sure that he was going to be okay, before focusing her attention back on the emotionless eyes of the man who had ordered the blow.

"He's right, you know," she informed him in a soft, certain voice, eyes blazing into his with quiet rage.

Travers gave her a questioning look, unsure of what exactly she meant.

"You are the monster," she stated firmly, righteous judgment in her voice, her expression.

More than Travers could take.

He rose from his seat, stalking across the room again to Joyce -- and this time, delivered the sharp blow across her face that he had threatened the first time.

"You try my patience, woman," he snarled. "I need no more of your comments -- your useless opinions!"

Joyce's head snapped to the side with the blow, and she held it there, her jaw working with repressed anger and hatred against the man -- aware that to show those emotions would likely only make things worse. If it had only been herself that she had to worry about, she would have fought back – resisted in some way.

But if she did not appease this man now – he would likely look to Dawn, as a means of gaining Joyce's cooperation…and Joyce would suffer any pain or humiliation necessary in order to spare her children from the same.

Travers backed down a step or two, recovering his composure, satisfied with her apparent submission. His voice trembled slightly as he barely managed to rein in the cruel rage that had overcome him for a moment, smoothing his suit down as he returned to his seat.

"Now as I said before -- let's just sit here quietly and wait for Ms. Summers to..."

His words were cut off in the next moment -- by a sharp, hurried knock at the door. Startled glances were exchanged, as each person in the room gauged the weight of the sound, and what it meant. No peep hole in the door made it impossible for them to know for certain who was at the door – but there was only one logical conclusion they could come to – and it was a conclusion that lent a much stronger air of tension and expectancy to the entire situation.

The Slayer and the vampire had returned.


	83. Chapter 83

"Joyce! Let me in!" Spike's slightly muffled voice called insistently through the motel room door. "Hurry up, pet, it's urgent!"

Everyone in the room froze at the sound of his voice, all eyes focused on the door. Joyce's heart was pounding and her mind was racing as she tried to think about her options – and realized with a sinking feeling that she really had none.

His use of the word "me" made it sound as if he was alone – which was a thought that she hardly wanted to begin to consider. Either Buffy was not with him at all, or she was too weak to be of any assistance in a fight at this moment. Perhaps she was waiting in the car – or perhaps he was carrying her in his arms…

Had they even heard the message Travers had left? Did Spike or Buffy have any idea what was waiting for them inside this room?

Giles was in no physical condition to be of any help against Travers and his men, and Spike's ill-timed words left no doubt in the minds of Travers and his men as to who was on the other side of the door. Already the two dark-suited men had risen from where they sat on the bed, and were edging toward the door, their weapons drawn and readied.

She hesitated, her eyes narrowing and her jaw setting in determination. She knew what Travers wanted her to do – but the thought of just opening the door – with that single, simple action, drawing Spike into a trap that he might have no idea existed.

No. She would not do that.

But then – she knew in the next moment that she would have no choice but to do just that – as one of Travers' men slowly, pointedly, adjusted the aim of his weapon, turning it away from the door – and aiming it directly at Dawn.

Immediately, Joyce went to the door.

"Just a second, Spike, hold on," she said, her voice terse and trembling as she fumbled with the deadbolt and the lock, silently praying that Spike had at least heard the voicemail, at least knew what he was about to walk into.

She opened the door, holding her breath in anticipation of whatever might happen, to see the blonde vampire standing alone in the doorway, looking at her with an expression of urgency and concern.

Surprise – real or feigned, she could not be sure – registered in his sapphire eyes as he took in the scene before him, one brow rising regally in speculation at the two burly men glaring at him, and the two guns in their hands aimed at his body.

"Didn't realize you had company, pet…" he said slowly, not moving to enter the room, but not moving away from the door, either.

"William the Bloody," Travers announced with a polite smile that was still somehow cruel and menacing, as he stood smoothly and turned to face the vampire. "I've heard so very much about you -- but never thought to have had the opportunity to meet you." He paused for a moment, nodding toward the interior of the room as he went on in a voice of cool steel, "Do come in."

His tone left no doubt as to whether the words were a request or a command.

Spike did not take too well to being commanded – but he had gotten very good at playing whatever part was required of him in any given situation, over the past century and a half – not to mention the past few difficult days.

After what the Slayer had put him through – the Council wankers were sure to be a bloody walk in the park.

Slow, cautiously, he stepped into the room, eyeing the weapons warily. Assuming that they were ordinary guns, they could not kill him – but that did not mean that they could not do a lot of damage, incapacitating him enough that he would be useless to protect his little family – and that would never do.

"Sorry that I can't say the same for you, mate," he said in a low, even tone that did not betray a hint of fear, his piercing gaze finding that of the older man, and calmly staring him down. "And who might you be?"

"Quentin Travers, head of the Watcher's Council – chief executive of the organization responsible for the utter destruction of your kind," the man smiled that same cold, unsettling smile – apparently as unafraid of Spike as Spike was of him.

"I can't rightly see as how you can take credit for that just yet," Spike noted with a little smirk. "Don't count your chickens, and all that…" As he spoke, he slowly moved to stand with his back to the closed door, so that he could safely face every person in the room. He glanced idly from one to the next, including Joyce and Dawn in his calm, thoughtful gaze, as he took a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and casually lit up.

"So," he asked quietly. "what's the big meeting about?"

"I trust you and the Slayer received my message?" Travers said, his eyebrows raised in a question, his brow knit in the beginnings of a frown at the vampire's casual, unconcerned demeanor. "And yet – she did not see fit to join us?" His disapproval of Buffy's absence was clear in his tone.

The soft, dark laugh that left the vampire's throat sent a chill down Joyce's spine, and forced her to remind herself mentally that this was Spike -- and despite the fact that he was a soulless vampire who had killed hundreds, he would never hurt her little girl…

He wouldn't – would he? she wondered, almost cringing at her own doubt.

"She doesn't see much at the moment," Spike informed the Council head, meeting his gaze appraisingly, without any emotion besides the clear amusement in his cold, ice blue eyes. "She's dead."

The little cry of shock and dismay that left Joyce's lips was completely real – and Spike had to control himself, to keep himself from reacting to the raw pain in the sound, and rushing to reassure her.

He had to be convincing if this was going to work.

"Dead," Travers repeated skeptically, clearly not sure whether or not to believe him. "I suppose I shouldn't wonder – you have killed two Slayers before…"

"Yeah," Spike nodded with a grim smile, shrugging easily. "It was her or me, really – she was trying to kill me…took me out to the desert with that in mind…let her think she had the upper hand the whole way…then turned the tables on her – and made her my third."

He hoped desperately that Joyce was picking up on the inconsistencies in his story – the small, insignificant details that were false, that would mean nothing either way to the Council – but could reveal the truth to the Slayer's mum, if she would hear it.

Joyce had not heard anything past his announcement that her daughter was dead.

"No!"

Dawn's high, young voice cried out in a voice that was somehow trembling and strong at the same time – and intense enough to draw the attention of the assembled adults, even in the midst of the tense standoff that was developing.

Spike forced himself to giver her an impassive look, cold, dead eyes focused on hers with bemusement and mild curiosity bordering on boredom.

"No," she repeated, slowly moving toward the master vampire – and no one made any move to stop her. "No – you didn't. You couldn't…could you?"

The innocent trust, bruised and uncertain, in her wide, sparkling blue eyes was almost Spike's undoing. He longed to tell her the truth, to admit that it was a lie and end the heartache of grief that Buffy's loved ones were enduring in this moment.

But he couldn't – not yet.

"Oh, trust me, Bite-size," he laughed mirthlessly, trusting that the Council men would hear the nickname with a more sinister twist than Joyce and Dawn would ordinarily have heard it. "I could…and I did."

Dawn closed the distance between them, standing very near to him and looking up to meet his piercing gaze – wondering at whether or not he was telling the truth – and yet, unafraid of any harm coming to herself, either way. Some part of her, deep down, knew that Spike would never hurt her.

"Oh come now, Dawnie," he sneered, a cruel note coming into his voice as he smiled coldly down at her. "You shouldn't be surprised. You're the one that told me to do whatever I had to do…"

Dawn's eyes widened slightly further in painful shock at the reminder of her warning to him, before he and her sister and left, driving off across the desert to finish the ritual. She had reminded him that it was not really her sister in her sister's body, and he could not hold back.

But she had never meant…

The cruel, pitiless tone of his voice, apparently intended to hurt, sparked an anger and pain in Dawn that would not be denied. Automatically, instinctively, she raised her hand to strike out at the larger, stronger creature in front of her that could destroy her, if he felt like it, with very little effort at all.

"How could you…" she began, in a voice that trembled with rage and betrayal, as her small hand swung toward Spike's face.

With lightning speed, he caught her wrist in a vice-like grip – though not tight enough to actually hurt her – and held it there, his eyes boring into hers intently. Her eyes widened with shock at the sudden connection she felt, the intense wave of sensation that she fought quickly to not allow to show in her face.

"I do what I have to, pet – to survive," Spike reminded her, his voice much harder than the expression in his eyes, willing her to see, to feel, the truth of what was happening in this moment.

Dawn could feel the slight pushing, the very near presence of her sister – and suddenly instinctively knew that Spike had not, could not ever, hurt her. Buffy was very much alive and well.

And Dawn knew what she had to do.

With a force that made the gesture appear defiant, she jerked her hand back, lowering it slightly to grip his arm and pull it downward, leaning in closer to him aggressively, as if to challenge his cold words, his restraining grip.

And in that moment – she focused with everything she had, on her sister – on the connection, the oneness, that they had discovered between them earlier. She was Buffy – and Buffy was her. They were one and the same. She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt it happen – and then opened them, jerking away again.

This time – Spike let her go.

"Enough of these games," Travers snapped, stepping forward as if to break up the confrontation – though his lateness in doing so made it very clear that Dawn's safety was not the issue for him. He really could care less whether or not the vampire hurt the girl that he planned on killing before all was said and done, anyway.

At the moment, she was simply wasting his time.

"A claim has taken place between you and the Slayer. These things are not generally taken lightly by your kind – and the claim, as I understand it, gives the Slayer a certain measure of control over you," Travers went on, his voice calm and suspicious as he studied the expression of the vampire before him. "How am I to believe that you managed to subdue her, given the fact that you were under her power?"

"I wasn't," Spike informed him. "Stupid bint allowed me to return the claim – and then – then, all bets were off."

The wicked glint in his eyes as he spoke those words, looking down as if in memory of that final, glorious fight with the third Slayer he had defeated, sent an unwilling shiver down the Watcher's spine. Still, it was clear in Travers' expression that he was not sure yet whether or not to believe Spike's story.

"You returned her claim?" he echoed uncertainly. "Equalizing the claimant's rights between you," he mused, thoughtful. "And then – you're telling me that you defeated her – killed her in battle…"

"That's what I'm telling you, mate," Spike nodded with exaggerated patience. "Only to walk into this bloody mess," he added with a resentful muttering voice.

"Don't see why you're so worried about it," Dawn muttered angrily – but Spike could see the sparkle in her eyes, though her act was very well done. "If you killed her – and she's the best Slayer that's ever lived – then it's not like these guys pose much of a challenge!" she snorted in derision, rolling her eyes at the large men and their paltry weapons.

Unfortunately, her words called Travers' attention to something that might have been better left unnoticed, at the moment. The older man's eyes narrowed slightly in realization, as he spoke slowly.

"Yes – good point, child – I find myself wondering, vampire…why you've not set about tearing everyone in this room apart…" There was a smug sarcasm in the Watcher's voice, as he took a slow step closer to the vampire, as if to demonstrate the fact that he was not afraid of him. "…or at least…attempting to do so. You wouldn't get far if you tried; my men's guns are loaded with wood-tipped bullets, designed for stopping anything, human or vampire, that is necessary – and they're very good marksmen…"

Spike shrugged, nodding in acquiescence to his point. "Perhaps I'm just not bloody stupid – did that thought cross your mind?" he asked with a defiant, mocking smirk.

"Not really, no," Travers said bluntly, that cold, predatory smile back in place as he moved closer to the vampire. "No – I rather think that a vampire of your reputation, in a situation like this – would already be fighting his way out of said situation…" He was silent for a moment, allowing his point to sink in, before completing his thought with pointed emphasis.

"…assuming he could fight his way out of it, of course…"

Spike did not allow his expression to reveal anything, as he met the man's gaze unflinchingly – but made no move to attack. "And why would I not be able to do that, mate?" he asked, a cold, deadly quality to his voice.

"The same reason you would not have been able to before the Slayer's little witch friend cast her spell – now that the spell has been neutralized – and the Slayer's essence returned to the place from whence it came – it only stands to reason that your freedom from the chip that controls you, would also have come to an end…doesn't it?" Travers' soft, subtly threatening voice was almost hypnotic, in the stillness, as every person in the room took in his words.

Dawn's eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly, a silent apology on her lips as she realized what her mistake might have cost her friend.

Spike carefully avoided her gaze, not wanting to give anything away, looking down for a moment before returning Travers' gaze again with a wicked light in his eyes.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly. "But then again – maybe you're not…care to test your…"

His words were cut off unexpectedly as the Watcher raised his hand and delivered a sharp, backhand blow across Spike's face, stunning everyone who witnessed it with the surprising violence.

The blow did not even budge the blonde vampire, only turned his head slightly to the side – but he made no move to return it, or defend himself in any way – and the men with Travers gradually relaxed, as they realized that their boss was right.

This vampire posed no threat to them.

Travers smiled slowly. "You know," he replied quietly. "I believe I will try my luck, vampire…" He glanced behind him at the two men now flanking him, moved in close to assist in his intimidation – which, on his own, was sorely lacking. "Now – I'm quite curious to know for certain whether or not you're telling the truth about the fate of the Slayer – and as I can tell, there's only one way to know for sure."

He was quiet for a moment, before asking softly, "Where is her body?"

Spike shrugged, his smile faded with the revelation of his defenselessness – though he still refused to show any real fear. "Out in the desert where I killed her. Useless to me, now, isn't she? You didn't think I'd cart her bloody carcass back here, did you?"

Travers' smile widened slightly, in an almost indulgent way, at the vampire's defiant tone. "You will take us to her body," he stated coldly.

Spike glared at him, his chin raised slightly in bold defiance. "Maybe I will…" he began.

One of Travers' men moved in beside him, pressing the specially armed weapon he held into his ribcage warningly, and he suddenly stopped talking, hesitating a moment as he weighed his options – and they did not seem to be all that good.

"Maybe I will," he repeated with a sigh of resignation, nodding slowly and looking down as if in defeat.

Travers nodded in satisfaction. "Jenkins," he ordered without looking at the man he addressed. "You will stay here and guard our guests. We will go and verify the Slayer's death. Wait for the call from me, to take any action. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Travers," the man agreed obediently, moving to sit in the chair his boss had vacated, where he could keep an eye on their prisoners, as Travers, Spike, and the other dark-suited man headed toward the door.

No sooner had they closed the door behind them, than Dawn suddenly leaned forward, gagging slightly and coughing, before jumping up and rushing toward the bathroom. Jenkins frowned, looking after her, but made no move to stop her.

He supposed a sudden bout of nausea was a reasonable reaction to finding out that her sister had been killed.

"Mom!" Dawn called out in a hoarse, plaintive voice that anyone at all familiar with kids would have known was false.

Jenkins, fortunately, was not familiar with kids.

"Let me go to her," Joyce asked him, imploring him with her eyes, red-rimmed and ravaged with shock and pain. The revelation of Buffy's death had not been easy on her, either.

He hesitated a moment, before nodding his assent, though he kept his eyes focused on the bathroom door through which Joyce had disappeared.

No sooner had she knelt at her daughter's side, where Dawn knelt on her knees in front of the toilet, then the teenager straightened up, gripping her mother's arm and meeting her eyes with no trace of weakness or sickness.

"Mom," she whispered intently. "Don't worry – Buffy's alive!"

Joyce's eyes widened with hope as she searched her daughter's gaze. "Honey – are you sure?" she asked. She wanted desperately to believe her – and it did seem that Dawn was somehow deeply involved in all of this, and would likely know if Buffy was okay or not.

"Yes…and she's here…"

"What?" Joyce whispered, in shock. "Where?"

"In Spike's car – outside…" Dawn replied. "Well – her body is, anyway…"

"Wait – Dawnie – how do you know this?" Joyce stopped her, shaking her head – mostly just trying to keep up.

"Because she told me," she replied simply.

"She -- told you?" Joyce echoed, frowning in confusion and bewilderment. "But – how…?"

"When Spike touched me," Dawn replied, earnestly holding her mother's gaze. "I have to get to her – I have to get her back to her body so we can go help Spike!"

"How are you gonna do that, Honey?" Joyce asked, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty. "If Buffy's with Spike…"

"But she's not with Spike, Mom," Dawn interrupted, shaking her head, her eyes shining with triumph and excitement.

"She's with me."


	84. Chapter 84

"We have to get rid of the guard in there," Dawn whispered to her mother, both of their heads bowed near to each other as they hovered over the toilet in the motel bathroom, of all things! "Or – or find a way to get me out to the car…even just for a few minutes…"

Joyce looked away with a pensive frown, thinking hard as she tried to come up with the solution, while Dawn made terribly inappropriate retching noises that, under the circumstances – trying to deceive the man in the next room into thinking that she was terribly ill – were completely appropriate.

"Hey, Mom!" Dawn suddenly exclaimed in a whisper, a light of mischievous inspiration in her eyes. "Do you think you could fake – like – an attack of some kind? Asthma? Some allergic reaction? Massive coronary?" she suggested several options hopefully.

"What?" Joyce's eyes widened in alarm. "Dawnie, what are you…"

"Anything that would require medication, fast?" Dawn went on, a slow, conspiratorial smile spreading across her face.

Then, Joyce realized what she was thinking – and gradually her expression began to match her daughter's smile – just before fading just as quickly back into anxious uncertainty.

"Oh, Dawnie – I don't know if I can pull it off! I never have been a good actress, not since high school…I don't know if I can convince him! If he figures out we're lying – it could be really dangerous, Sweetie," she whispered her concerns.

"Yeah," Dawn agreed reluctantly. "Plus we'll look really stupid."

"Hey!" Joyce objected mildly to her daughter's easy acceptance of her assessment of her own acting abilities.

"So – just like – pass out," Dawn suggested. "That's simple enough…and leave the rest to me. I'll come up with something," she went on with a casual shrug – followed by another loud, coughing, gagging fit.

"And why is that such a scary thought at the moment?" Joyce asked in a whisper, a frown of worry on her brow. "Okay," she relented finally with a sigh, "let's do it."

Dawn grinned in eager anticipation, before letting out a couple of final exaggerated choking coughs over the toilet, and reaching up to flush the clear water in the bowl down the drain. Joyce made a big production of helping her to her feet, and leading her out of the little bathroom, back into the man's line of vision, as she wet a cloth and gently washed her daughter's face over the sink.

When they turned around and headed back into the bedroom area, Joyce noticed their guard staring dubiously at Dawn, as if he was afraid she might throw up on him if he allowed her to get to close to him.

That was fine with Joyce; she did not want him anywhere near her daughter.

Dawn and Joyce exchanged a communicative glance, as they sat down casually side by side on the bed farthest from the man sitting in the chair. But then, Joyce froze up. She was terribly nervous about this – ridiculously so. She wanted to be sure that she acted realistically enough to convince their guard that she was seriously in trouble. Hopefully, he would not catch on to the act – but then, honestly, it did not seem terribly likely.

Jenkins did not exactly seem to be the brightest crayon in the box – which was probably why he had been chosen to stay behind and hostage-sit.

Travers had badly misjudged the two non-Slayer Summers women.

After a couple of pointed, demanding looks from her daughter, Joyce suddenly allowed her body to relax, slumping down on the bed, her eyes closed and her jaw slack, as she feigned unconsciousness.

"Mom?" Dawn's anxious voice filled her ears, and she stayed unresponsive as the girl shook her gently. Her voice rose slightly, trembling as she repeated urgently, "Mom! Oh, my God…no, Mommy, not now! Mom!"

Joyce had to give Dawn credit – her acting was impressive.

"What's the matter? What is it?"

Joyce counted slowly in her head, willing away the instinctive tensing of her body as she heard the man's gruff voice, his heavy footsteps, growing nearer to where they sat. She had to stay calm – it was all part of the plan…

"She's sick! She's having an attack! She needs her medicine, now!" Dawn explained in a panicked rush.

"Medicine for what?" Jenkins demanded, his voice sounding worried and tense, despite his best efforts to appear not to care. "What's the matter with her?"

"It's happened a couple of times before," Dawn explained, her voice tinged with just the right notes of fear and desperation as she gently shook her mother again as if trying to rouse her. "She's going into anephemorphic shock -- if she doesn't get her medicine right away, she'll stop breathing..."

"Anephelactic what?" Jenkins echoed, shaking his head slighlty at the unfamiliar terms.

"Anephemorphic, moron!" Dawn snapped, forgetting herself in her ruse of "panic". "It's a brain condition...she could die!" She suddenly looked up at the man, her eyes wide and desperate and pleading. "Please -- let me get her her medicine! She left it in the car, in the first aid kit -- please!"

Jenkins' hesitation was visible in his stance, as he considered whether or not to allow her request. After all, he knew very well that when all was said and done, his boss's intention was not to let any of their hostages live. Why should he take a risk to save the life of a woman thatwas going to die in a few hours, anyway?

Then again -- the girl would surely be much more difficult to control if he allowed her mother to die before her eyes.

At least -- he told himself that that was the reason that he wanted to grant Dawn's request.

"I could get it...or...well..." he hesitated, frowning with realization.

Dawn knew what he was thinking. He did not want to let her leave the motel room, thinking it too risky -- and yet, he knew that if he left the room, it would leave Dawn free to grab the phone and call for help. It left him with quite a dilemma.

"Please," Dawn whispered, her voice trembling, on the edge of a sob. "You can see me from the door...please, just let me get her medicine..."

After a moment more of consideration, the burly man let out a weary sigh of resignation, and nodded toward the door. "Go on," he ordered gruffly. "Get the medicine."

"Thank you!" Dawn gushed, her eyes brimming with quite genuine tears of relief. "Thank you so much!"

Jenkins followed behind her as she stepped out onto the walkway, watching her closely as she quickly made her way down the stairs and to the ground floor of the parking lot, and then across the lot to Spike's car. She tried the handle, relieved to find it locked -- though she knew that Spike would have left it open for her.

This was, after all, his plan to begin with.

She opened the back passenger door -- and froze at the sight that met her eyes.

Her sister's still, apparently lifeless body lay, gently laid across the backseat, her eyes closed, her body utterly still -- looking for all the world as if she was peacefully asleep.

Except -- she wasn't breathing.

She was too still.

Suddenly, Dawn did not want to look too closely. She fought back the queasy, unsettled, frightened feeling that rose in her, concentrating again on the sensation of her sister's presence with her as she felt Buffy rising toward the surface, as if in response to the nearness of her body.

You okay, Dawnie? her voice echoed gently in her head. You are so brave, you know that? Thank you so much for doing this, Dawn...I know it's hard...

Yeah, I know -- and you're gonna owe me therapy for life -- but let's just hurry up and get this done, okay? Before Jeffries up there gets twitchy and hurts Mom... Dawn replied, speaking only in her head.

Her hand trembled, but Buffy's reassuring words in her head made it easier for her to reach out and gently grip the cool, still arm of her sister.

And in the moment that she did -- an electric current of feeling swept through her, renewing the sense of connection that she only felt with her sister when they were in contact like this. She felt the power of their connection, swirling around them, as the energy that made up her existence worked to put things to rights again.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Dawn began to feel her sister's presence pulling away from her, and fought back an unsettling sense of sudden apprehension. What if it didn't work? What if she was doing something wrong -- what if she lost her sister for good, into the void of space and time, rather than emptying her essence back into her body as she was attempting to do?

But the sudden soft stirring of the body on the backseat of the car, the soft little moan of pain that left Buffy's lips, was all the reassurance Dawn needed that things, so far, had gone exactly according to plan.

"Hey! What's going on down there?" Jenkins called over the railing on the second level – the same railing that Spike had thrown Buffy over earlier that same evening – peering down into the parking lot as the teenage girl scrambled from the car, though empty-handed. "Hurry it up!"

"I can't find it!" Dawn called back in a mockery of a stage whisper, already leaning back into the car as she added, "Give me a minute!" And without giving him time to object, she ducked back into the car, eyes wide and searching her sister's face for the assurance that Buffy was, once again, herself.

"Buffy?" she whispered anxiously. "How do you feel? Are you okay?"

The groggy, slightly disoriented Slayer blinked at her a couple of times, then glanced around at the dark interior of the car – then down at her own body, bruised and battered from the beating Spike had dealt it – but already healing. Apparently, everything had gone back to normal when they had sent the Slayer back to where she had come from – with the exception of her recent series of body swaps.

"Gotta love that Slayer healing," Buffy groaned softly by way of response, stretching slightly and wincing at the dull ache that was, thankfully, fading more with each minute. She was still tired and sore and not in top condition – but she was more than capable of taking on one human guard.

"I'll be fine," she assured Dawn in a whisper, glancing up toward the windows of the car – realizing with relief that they were covered, and Jenkins could not see her. "I'm just a little – um – I just need a second to…"

"Deal with the weirdness?" Dawn guessed, quite accurately. She could completely understand how her sister might need a minute or two, at the very least, to readjust after finding herself suddenly back in her own body – and alone in that body.

"You have no idea," Buffy remarked with a weighted sigh of relief that she would not have to try to explain the strange feeling of it all that she could not begin to put into words, even in her mind.

She had gone from feeling out-of-control, like a prisoner in her own body – to leaping into Spike's body, and watching the Slayer use it to viciously abuse her mate – to leaping into Dawn's body – as a means of getting back into her own body again.

And now, it felt strange to be – well, herself again.

She paused for a moment, just thinking and feeling, reassuring herself that she was indeed alone in her own mind. A slow smile spread across her face as she met her sister's eyes again, a glimmer of mischief and anticipation in her shimmering emerald gaze.

"Ready?" Dawn nodded leadingly, her own smile widening at the look on Buffy's face.

Her sister the Slayer was back.

"Yeah," Buffy nodded slowly, glancing back up toward the covered windows. "Just go on back upstairs – fake it a minute or two longer…" At Dawn's questioning look, she added, "I wanna make an entrance."

Dawn rolled her eyes and suddenly frowned. "I said I was coming down here for medicine!"

Buffy looked at her blankly for a moment, confused.

"Okay – I'll give you that blonde moment on account of body-snatching and extreme confusion," Dawn informed her sister calmly, with an overly patient sigh, pausing for impact before stating slowly and simply, "We have no medicine. So how am I gonna convince…"

"Check Mom's purse," Buffy interrupted her. "There should be…"

Dawn frowned, puzzled, as she pulled the prescription bottle out of her mother's handbag and gave Buffy a questioning, troubled look.

Buffy shrugged casually. "Migraines."

"Mom doesn't get migraines."

"She's had a few these past few weeks," Buffy corrected her, trying not to show the concern she actually felt to her younger sister. "But that'll work – he won't have time to look too close – not before I'm up there kicking his skanky British butt around the room."

Dawn's concerns faded away at the very promising sound of her sister's words, and she nodded, getting out of the car and closing the door. They had no time left to waste; if she did not get upstairs, and fast, Jenkins would start getting suspicious – and she knew that he was not above hurting her mother in order to attempt to control her.

"You found them?" he asked her anxiously, following her as she made her way to her mother's side.

She nodded tersely, fumbling realistically with the bottle, her hands trembling slightly, as she shook a couple of the pills into her hand. "Water!" she snapped in a commanding tone that surprised even her.

To her greater surprise, Jenkins actually moved toward the sink, unwrapping one of the little plastic hotel cups and filling it with ice and water, and hurrying to return to where Dawn was awkwardly trying to shift her limp, apparently unconscious mother's body around, tilting her head back so that she could drink.

She gestured for him to come and help her as she put the pills in her mother's mouth, her mind racing.

Come on, Buffy, hurry up! she thought, nervous about what would happen if they had to take the act so far as Joyce's actually taking the medication. Wasn't it supposed to be bad for someone to take prescription drugs when they weren't sick?

But she couldn't stop – not until Buffy was here to protect them from what this man would do to them when he found out he had been tricked.

Suddenly, as Jenkins leaned over the bed, raising the cup to Joyce's lips – Dawn saw her chance to end this confrontation, before her mother had to take the pills. The British man's hands were both raised, hovering near Joyce's head as he focused on giving the apparently dying woman her life-giving medication – leaving his gun exposed and well within Dawn's reach.

Without stopping to think about whether or not it was really a good idea, Dawn reached over swiftly and smoothly to take the weapon from his holster, immediately backing away a few steps, out of his reach.

The cup of water dropped onto the mattress, spilling the cool fluid onto the comforter – and Joyce.

"Hey! Careful with that!"

With a yelp the woman sat up on the bed, opening her eyes and looking around to take in the scene – and a slow smile spread across her face, as she quickly scooted across the bed on the other side, away from the man, before he could get any ideas about using her as a hostage to get Dawn to put down the weapon.

Jenkins was just realizing the dangerous turn the situation had taken – wondering if there was any way to keep things from getting any worse – when he suddenly found out that it was about to get a lot worse.

With a dramatic effect that she had perfected in her years as the Slayer, the door was violently kicked open – revealing the powerful, petite blonde standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, taking in the scene before her with cool, appraising eyes.

The Council member's eyes widened as he realized who he was faced with – the "rogue Slayer" that Travers described as so deadly and dangerous and out of control – a small, pretty girl who possessed incredible power, belied by her appearance – who was currently glaring at him, her eyes narrowing as she thought of the threat he had posed to her loved ones.

Jenkins glanced at the splintered door, now hanging from a single hinge, and swallowed hard, his eyes widening further.

When he looked back at the Slayer, she was smiling at him, a dangerous gleam in her eyes that sent a shiver down his spine, as she spoke as she stalked into the room, her every move speaking of pure power.

"It's really good to be me!"


	85. Chapter 85

"Look, I – I wasn't going to hurt them, Miss Summers," Jenkins stumbled over his explanation in his haste to get it out before the Slayer decided to rip his limbs off, taking a couple of steps backward, in the same direction Joyce had moved. "I swear it! I was just…"

"Keeping an eye on them so that Travers could go make sure I was dead – and then kill my mate – and then he could come back and kill them?" Buffy finished for him, advancing a step of her own for every step he took backwards. Her voice was calm, casual, as she shrugged and shook her head dismissively. "Somehow – doesn't make me any less inclined to beat you into an unrecognizable mess of mixed up body parts – and if you take another step toward my mother -- I will."

The cold steel that crept into her voice on the end of her words was enough to make the Watcher freeze, although he had not really been consciously moving toward Joyce.

It just so happened that "toward Joyce" and "away from psychotic Slayer who wants me to die screaming" happened to be one and the same direction at the moment.

"I – I wasn't…"

"Shut up."

The Slayer's cold command was immediately obeyed, as every conscious person in the room waited in silent anticipation, to see where Buffy would take the little standoff. It was all in her hands now.

"Mom – please come over here," Buffy instructed, her voice softening as she addressed her mother.

Joyce was a bit caught off guard – and more that a little awed – by the authoritative tone her daughter's voice had taken on, in spite of the "please" she had used, out of respect for her mother – but she immediately moved to do as Buffy had said, quickly moving past the man and out of his reach before he could even think of reaching for her.

Buffy smiled, her eyes never leaving Jenkins, as she stepped toward her sister and held out her hand expectantly.

Dawn immediately knew what she wanted – and was more than happy to give it to her.

She placed the gun in Buffy's hand without hesitation. She was glad that she had taken it in the first place, proud of herself for her brave actions that had likely helped the situation to be taken in hand much more easily than it would have been had Jenkins been armed when Buffy entered the room – but she had to admit that she felt much better with the weapon out of her hands, and in her sister's.

Buffy's gaze shifted for a moment with concern to her own Watcher, stirring slightly, slowly returning to consciousness on the bed.

"We've got to get him out of here," she said to her mother and Dawn. "We've got to go after Spike – but we can't leave Giles here. He's hurt bad; anything could happen to him while we're gone, not just Travers…"

Joyce immediately moved to the side of the bed, gently shaking the injured man by the shoulder in an attempt to hurry his rousing. He winced slightly, despite her gentle efforts, raising a shaky hand to cover hers and still its movements, as he opened bleary eyes to meet hers over a tight smile.

"I'm – quite conscious, Joyce – thank you," he assured her in a raspy voice that nevertheless did not disguise his mild sarcasm, as he struggled, with her help, to sit up on the bed – his eyes widening when he saw his Slayer, standing at the foot of the bed, aiming the other Watcher's own weapon at his chest.

"Buffy," he said softly, the word barely a breath – and in it, she could hear the concern, the uncertainty he felt at seeing her standing there, armed and dangerous, with murderous rage in her eyes.

It was understandable, she knew. The last time he had seen her, she had been swiftly losing all semblance of control over her own body to the violent, malevolent Slayer demon that had been in her.

"Hey, Giles," she said with a casual air that didn't seem to fit the situation. "Yeah, I'm me – don't tell me you weren't wondering…" There was an ironic sort of humor in her eyes when she met his – and a bit of a guarded expression, that almost completely masked the tenderness and concern she could not help but feel for him.

Almost.

"I wasn't going to attempt to," he assured her with a bittersweet smile of affection. One look in her eyes, however, had put his fears to rest, reassuring her that this was indeed the same girl he had grown to love over the past few years.

"She's herself again," Joyce assured him. "I know it looks suspicious what with the gun and all – but that man…"

"Yes, Joyce, I remember very well what sort of a man he is – what he's capable of – and have no problem whatsoever with Buffy's current use of the gun -- however she might decide to use it," Giles assured her, a grim, satisfied smile on his face as he regarded the younger Watcher, his eyes cold and dangerous.

Buffy smiled at his words, which only served to emphasize to her prisoner how truly dangerous she could be; her calm eyes focused on Jenkins as she went on with her instructions, "Mom, Dawnie – we have to go, now. Spike's in danger. Help Giles to Spike's car. Lock yourselves in. I'll be down in a minute…"

"Buffy," Joyce asked, concern in her voice. "What are you going to…"

"Please don't ask," Buffy cut her off softly, her gaze shifting to meet her mother's firmly, reassuringly – though her tone and her words revealed nothing so reassuring to the man standing across the room, on the end of her gun. "Please just trust me."

Joyce searched her daughter's eyes for a moment, before nodding slowly in acceptance. Her daughter had to deal with things on a daily basis that she was just now beginning to understand even existed. She had to admit, as much as she longed to guide and protect her daughter – this was a situation that Buffy was better equipped to deal with than she could ever be.

"Okay," she agreed simply, smiling with affection and trust at her oldest daughter, before moving to obey her request.

Once the room was emptied of all but her and the by now terrified Watcher, Buffy's smile widened, cold and menacing, as she stepped nearer to him.

"Please," he whimpered, drawing back further, jumping when his back hit the counter of the sink behind him, and there was no where else to go. "Please – don't…"

"Oh, shut up," Buffy snapped in disgust, unmoved by his fear. She had absolutely no sympathy for him, despite the helplessness of his situation. This was one of the men who had brutally beaten her Watcher, threatened her mate, and had had every intention of seeing her and her entire family dead before the night was ended.

Not on her life.

"Come on," she ordered, gesturing with the gun for the man to move past her, toward the door. "And if you try to run – I will shoot you. Don't necessarily want to – but I will," she assured him with a calm in her voice that made him realize with a chill just how thoroughly she meant her words.

He obeyed her, walking ahead of her out the door, stopping as directed in front of the door a couple of doors down. His eyes widened when they entered the room, at the sight of the bloodied, torn sheets on the bed, and the chains still attached to it. His audible gulp drew Buffy's attention to his reaction, and she rolled her eyes in irritation.

"Oh, please!" she sneered, keeping her eyes on the back of the man standing in front of her, as she reached behind her to close the door firmly. "Don't flatter yourself! I wouldn't touch you!"

Before Jenkins could turn around, or say a word, she swiftly brought the gun down across the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Buffy's expression became grim, her smile fading, as she looked down at the still form on the floor with a sigh of resignation.

"Any more than I have to," she muttered, reaching down to drag the unresponsive body toward the chains still attached to the bed.

Once the unconscious Watcher was securely bound and gagged, she went through his pockets, collecting a cell phone – who knew when Travers might try to get a hold of him? – and another weapon; before heading for the door, which locked automatically behind her.

As she passed the other room on her way to the stairs, she grimaced slightly, apologetically, murmuring, "Sorry," to no one in particular at the sight of the destroyed door to the room. She would have to get her mother to pay for it later – and then pay back her mother…

She sighed, as she made her way down the stairs – her morose mood fading instantly into fear and anger at the sight of Spike's car, the visible reminder of the perilous situation her mate was in at the moment, and the next step that she would have to take to get him out of it.

Spike was out there somewhere in the desert, alone with Travers and his men, leading them on a wild goose chase in search of nothing – and most likely unable to defend himself against them, when they inevitably discovered that they were being tricked.

The two of them had not been able to come up with a way of testing whether or not his chip was working, not yet. As her body was for all intents and purposes dead, until after he had left with Travers and his men, he could not try a test hit on her to see if the chip fired or not. He had suggested hitting some random person on their way back to the room – an idea that had not exactly thrilled Buffy, though she knew that it might be a necessity.

She had been both relieved and disappointed when they did not pass a single person on their way back from the desert to the motel room.

And at any rate, they had no idea how her presence in his body might have affected the chip's power, anyway. Her humanity, inside him, might very well have caused it to deactivate – allowing him to strike a human while she was inside him – only to leave him defenseless against the Council again, once she returned to her own body.

So basically – Spike was going into this encounter with the Council blind, having no idea whether or not he would be able to defend himself, should the need arise.

They had decided that it would be best to act as if the chip was still working for as long as possible. If Spike did try to hit Travers or one of his men, and the chip activated, it would only result in his getting hurt or killed. The men would surely retaliate, and he would not be able to fight back. But if it came to it, and it was necessary to defend his life or the lives of his family – he would take the chance…

…and hope for the best.

"I'm beginning to think you've been leading us in circles, vampire," Travers remarked coldly, from his seat beside Spike in the backseat of the car, the weapon that he had produced upon getting into the vehicle pressed sharply into the vampire's side in a menacing gesture. "And I must say I'm losing my patience. Have you actually any idea whatsoever where we're going?"

"Of course I do!" the blonde retorted, in an exaggeratedly offended voice. After a moment's pause, he added, "Least – I think I do…shouldn't be much farther now, mate, honest."

The slight smirk playing about his lips, the wide-eyed innocence that he could not have pulled off in a million years, incensed the older man sitting beside him, who was increasingly suspicious by the moment that he was being had.

"If you're lying to us, vampire…" he began in a very soft, deadly voice, a cold, barely restrained smile coming over his face.

"I'm not," Spike assured him. Then he added with a little half shrug and a soft laugh, "Of course – a bloke could get lost right easy, out here, mate – nothing but sand – no land marks of any kind…not my fault if it all looks the same, now is it?"

He had been doing his best to stall them for some now, hoping to keep them busy so that Dawn could return Buffy to her body, and Buffy could recover enough to be back in good form to fight them – all while keeping the car he was in reasonably close to the motel.

He could feel Buffy through the bond of their mating claim, knew that she was feeling stronger, and better yet, that she was heading toward him by now – but he had to keep up the game just a little bit longer, keep the Council close enough that she could catch up to them in his car.

Oh, please, love, he thought suddenly, not sure if she could hear him or not over the distance, but desperately hoping that she could. Please don't hurt my baby…

From the tales he had heard of the Slayer's driving – he had the terrible feeling that he might not recognize his beloved DeSoto when he saw it again.

If he saw it again.

Travers frowned, poking him a bit harder with the gun, so that the vampire winced slightly. "I'm through playing games, vampire," he insisted, warningly. "You told me you could take us to the Slayer's body – and you will. Or you will beg to die. If you are leading us in the wrong direction…"

"I'm not," Spike cut him off, his voice low and serious, as he looked straight ahead through the windshield at the lonely, deserted road ahead of them. Then a sly, mocking smile broke through the sober expression, as he added with a tiny shrug, and more than a little irritation in his voice, "most likely. And I have got a name, mate – it's Spike – if you bloody wankers can't seem to remember it, I could always remind you how I got it!"

The mockery in his voice was doing little to diffuse the situation – but Spike really did not care. He had had enough these past few days of sitting back and taking whatever bullying and violence was thrown his way. He might or might not be able to defend himself against these wankers – but he certainly did not have to silently accept their derision and degradation of him, treating him as nothing more than a thing to be used in whatever way he could be, and then discarded without a second thought.

He could feel the violent temper rising in the man beside him, before Travers exploded angrily, "That's it! Stop this car!" he ordered the Watcher who was driving. "Stop it now!"

Spike tensed slightly, pulling against the chains at his wrists that the Watcher had put on him before getting into the car. He had thought about resisting then and there, aware that he would stand less of a chance of overcoming them bound, but knew that he could not – not when he had no idea yet if resistance would even do any good, and not when they were still so near to his family.

He could never endanger them like that.

So, he had submitted to the handcuffs that Travers had put on him, immediately testing his strength against them as soon as he was in the car. They were surprisingly strong, most likely designed to hold a vampire – but he thought that he probably could break them, if he had to.

Now, he prepared himself to act if necessary, as the car pulled over on the side of the road, and the driver got out to open the back passenger side door.

Spike still had no idea if he would actually be able to defend himself, or not – but it looked as if he was about to find out. Apparently, Travers had tired of his forgetfulness and uncertainty, that had led them over the same indistinguishable patch of desert several times now.

The game was quickly drawing to an end – and Spike would soon find out whether he would be the winner or the loser.

He was dragged roughly from the car by the driver, who was considerably larger and stronger than Travers, and thrown to the sand on his knees, unable to catch his balance with his hands bound behind his back. Instinctively he pulled against the sturdy handcuffs that bound him, which creaked in a promising way, but did not give – not yet.

"The Slayer's not even dead – is she?" Travers demanded, cold fury in his quiet voice.

"Of course she is!" Spike insisted, flexing his wrists against the cuffs again behind his back.

He suddenly had to bite back a cry of pain as the driver, who had moved behind him without his notice, aimed a vicious kick that caught him both in his straining wrists, and the small of his back, causing his back to arch in pain. The man moved in closer, placing his foot on the metal between the two cuffs and holding it to the ground, effectively robbing Spike of the leverage he needed to break the handcuffs, and holding him in that same awkward, backward-bent position.

"We would have received a call by now, Spike," Travers informed him, overly patient and patronizing in his use of his name, as Spike had requested. "Informing us of the calling of the new Slayer." He moved forward, closer to him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back sharply, and the vampire could not help but wince at the painful contact.

He had had enough of that particular painful, demeaning gesture in the past few days, to last him a lifetime.

"Why should I believe that the Slayer is dead?" Travers demanded coldly, a deadly look in his eyes – and Spike knew that his time was about to run out.

Still – he had to try.

He glared defiantly up at the human that he would have torn apart in two seconds had he been free of the handcuffs and the chip, as he gave his simple, emphatic answer, ground out in a voice of derisive hatred.

"Because I'm…not…"

Travers smiled, with a slight nod of acknowledgement at Spike's point. From what Giles had told him of the Slayer, while under the influence of the Slayer demon, there was no way that she would have allowed Spike to live, at the end of their fight, if she was still alive to do otherwise.

She had to be dead.

But the vampire was clearly not going to lead them to where she was; he had outlived his usefulness to the Council.

Without warning, Travers drew back the gun in his hand, simultaneously releasing his grip on Spike's hair as he slammed the weapon down hard across his face, splitting his lip with the force of the blow. As Spike struggled to catch his breath, his eyes closed, his face turned slightly away, Travers crouched beside him, a cruel smile on his lips, as he amended what Spike had just said in a soft, menacing voice.

"Yet."

Spike struggled to gather the thoughts that the splitting pain in his head had driven from him, struggled to focus enough to rally his strength and attempt again to break the chains that bound him, although now that the bully behind him knew that he was trying, he knew it was going to be more difficult than ever to do so.

Assuming that even breaking his bonds would do him any good, anyway.

One thing brought him hope – that tiny little prickling sensation in the back of his mind, the one that had told him that his mate was headed toward him, had been getting stronger every moment, even as Travers and his assistant had been beating and threatening him, and the moments ticked by toward the moment when they would take his life.

And Spike knew something that they could not possibly know.

Buffy was no longer on her way.

She was here.


	86. Chapter 86

"I was the last one to see your soddin' Slayer alive," Spike reminded Travers in a low, controlled voice, his eyes downcast, not looking at the man who, at the moment, held his life in his hands. He couldn't help being just the littlest bit scared – he would have been stupid not to be, under the circumstances – but there was no bloody way he was going to let Travers see that.

"Dust me – and you'll never know where she is," he pointed out, a boldness in his quiet voice that belied his current situation.

"You know, that thought might concern me," Travers replied with a cold smile, standing up straight all at once, towering over the kneeling, helpless vampire, "if I thought that you had any intention at all of telling us the truth in the first place."

Spike swallowed hard, his body tensing in dreadful anticipation, as the man swiftly moved his hand, pressing the gun against his chest, its aim flawlessly in line with his unbeating heart. He knew that there would be no convincing Travers now; the man was no longer fooled into thinking that he had anything left to gain from Spike's continued existence, and he was determined to end his life – and then, no doubt, to go back after the Slayer's family, witnesses to his crimes.

But Spike could feel the presence of his mate, very near – knew that she was very close by and getting closer, though he had heard no sound of his car's engine, not the slightest footstep, to indicate her presence. He could, however, catch her scent, as she drew silently nearer to them.

Buffy? he reached out to her cautiously in his mind, hoping that she could hear him. Can you hear me, love?

Loud and clear, Spike…you okay? she replied immediately, without hesitation.

Just bloody peachy, pet… he replied, with no little sarcasm, though there was no anger or hostility in his tone. He was too relieved that she was there to even think about the strained, awkward state of their relationship at the moment. Tell me that the reason I haven't heard my car is that you thought ahead enough to park it a good distance away – not because it's no longer in one piece and running…

Spike – have a little faith in me, 'k? Buffy's voice was far too cheerful, under the circumstances; her words did not really make Spike feel much better about the state of his DeSoto, until she finally relented, reassuring him, It's parked a little ways back; Mom and Dawnie and Giles are waiting there so they don't get hurt. We've been following you guys for a while, at a distance; whenever you parked, we passed you and doubled back with our lights off…you don't think they saw us, do you?

No, he assured her. Don't think they've got a bloody clue…I've kept 'em pretty well distracted, pet. He paused for an instant, before adding, almost reluctantly, But – please hurry, love – they seem to be growing a bit bored…think we're running out of time…

On my way, Honey – just hold on…

A sudden, savage kick to his stomach drew Spike's attention abruptly from his mate's words, and to the men who were holding him captive.

Travers jabbed the gun harder against his chest, as he leaned in closer and demanded menacingly, "Answer me!"

"Could you repeat the bloody question, please?" Spike asked with sarcastic politeness, glaring up at the man in resentful defiance. "Got a bit bored and lost you there for a minute, mate…there's only so much pompous posturing a bloke can take before he starts wishing for death."

Travers punished the vampire's insolence with another harsh blow across his face, before repeating in a cold, derisive voice, "For the last time, vampire – if you really wish for a quick and simple death – tell me where the Slayer is."

"Oh, is that all you want?" Spike questioned, his eyes wide and innocent, as he glanced over Travers' shoulder discreetly. Receiving the affirmation he needed, he shrugged slightly. "That's an easy one, mate." He nodded toward the spot where his eyes were focused, behind the man. "Right there."

Travers whirled around, and his unobservant lackey looked up in surprise, to see the smiling Slayer step slowly out from behind his car, her arms crossed casually over her chest as she shrugged disarmingly in a "you got me" sort of gesture.

"Hey, guys," she remarked calmly. "Is this a private beat down – or can anyone join in?"

"Miss Summers," Travers stated unnecessarily, casting his assistant a dark look before turning his back completely on him and the chained, helpless vampire to face the infinitely more serious threat of the very angry Slayer.

The other Watcher had been facing the same direction from which the Slayer had come, and in Travers' opinion, should have seen her coming and warned him; but apparently he had been too distracted by dealing with Spike to notice her.

Now, Travers turned to face Buffy, not giving the vampire a second thought for now; in comparison with the small but powerful girl he was facing, her very presence exuding power and danger and deadly rage – the bound, chipped blonde on his knees on the ground did not appear to be much of a concern.

"How good of you to finally join us," Travers went on coldly, his gun carefully trained on the girl, who apparently carried no weapon of her own.

Buffy noticed that Travers did not seem terribly worried – not yet – though she could see the caution in his eyes as he read her expression. It probably had something to do with the murderous look in her eyes as she took in the scene before her, what the two men had been doing to her mate. Still – the head Watcher appeared calm and in control, not the least bit afraid of her.

After all – he was the one with the visible, aimed weapon.

Spike seemed to be the only one remembering what the Watchers did not seem to realize – she didn't need a weapon.

Bloody hell – she was a soddin' weapon!

"But I must admit," Travers went on, "I can't imagine why you'd want to join in on this 'beat down' as you so crudely put it. I was under the impression that this -- creature -- was a consort of yours." The disgust in his voice was clear, as he spared the vampire behind him a venomous sneer, before returning his questioning, accusing gaze to Buffy's face.

"Oh, he is," she assured him with a grim smile, hardening at his words, and Spike could see the fury building in her eyes as she took in the condition he was in. "And so much more. See – that's the thing. I wasn't really thinking so much along the lines of beating him down…"

Travers visibly tensed as Buffy smoothly moved nearer to him, every movement smooth and predatory, and speaking of unbelievable power – all focused on his destruction.

"That's far enough, Miss Summers," he warned her, only a slight tremor in his voice as he straightened his arm, aiming directly for her heart. "These specially made bullets will kill you as easily as they'll kill your vampire friend here."

Spike let out an unconscious growl behind the man, at the threat to his mate, and against his will Travers jumped, turning halfway to face the vampire. The Watcher swore softly, furious at the reaction that the vampire, even chained and helpless on his knees, had managed to get out of him.

Spike saw it as well, and was determined to milk it for all it was worth. Every moment that Travers' attention was focused on him was a moment that Buffy could use to their advantage.

"Yeah -- just like the Slayer'll kill you and your friend here, as easy as squashing an annoying fly that just keeps getting in the way," he sneered. "Face it, mate -- you don't stand a chance against her!"

"Silence!" Travers snarled in tense anger and frustration, turning and raising his gun to strike the vampire across the face again.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The Slayer's voice was pure, cold fury, and it gave the elder Watcher pause. He hesitated, turning to face her – and froze completely, when he saw the weapon she held in her hand, identical to his own. He paused, clearly considering, before his jaw set in determination – and his hand quickly shifted, taking aim once more at the vampire's chest.

Though she did not lower her weapon, Buffy's involuntary gasp brought a cruel smile to the man's lips.

"Who do you believe to be the faster shot, Miss Summers?" Travers asked softly, looking her in the eyes with an unmistakable challenge in his own. "You or I? Shall we find out?"

Buffy quickly forced herself to recover, though her heart was pounding with fear for her mate. "I'm the Slayer. Preternatural strength, speed, and aim in combination with almost constant training – what do you think?" she asked with a bold smirk, not moving her own weapon, keeping it trained on Travers. "And don't think I won't shoot you to protect him – because I will."

A quick hand gesture from Travers had his assistant's gun trained carefully on the Slayer's heart, though he made no move to pull the trigger – not yet.

"It's a simple matter of physics and timing, Miss Summers," Travers explained quietly, calmly. "There is no possible way that you can get off two shots before either of us can get off one. So – if you should decide to fire your weapon – either you or your vampire will die. Shoot my assistant here – and I will shoot the vampire before you can fire again. Shoot me – and my fellow Watcher will shoot you before you can stop him."

"Or give up, surrender, give you my weapon – and watch you shoot us both," Buffy finished for him, stating her third option, as she saw it. Despite the danger, her eyes were calm, though furious, as she straightened her arm, her eyes blazing into Travers' with no trace of backing down.

"Personally – I pick door number two," she informed him. "At least that way, even if you kill me, Spike lives -- and you die – and I've always wanted to see just how much this nifty Slayer healing stuff can do. There's a good chance I'd make it, too. The only one who's a sure loser in that case...is you, Travers."

Travers' eyes widened slightly at her words – her choice indeed making him the undeniable loser in the scenario -- and she could almost see him wondering if it could possibly be a bluff. Could this little slip of a girl, so young, so clearly driven by her emotions, possibly manage to take the life of a human being, to protect one of the very creatures that she was called to destroy?

Spike felt a sense of relief and certainty at the knowledge that when it came to his life and the lives of her family – she most certainly could.

A moment of intense, heavy silence fell over the small space of desert, the wind whistling around them, as no one dared to move. Travers did not remove the gun from Spike's chest, and neither Buffy or the other Watcher relaxed their aim one bit – all four players locked in a silent stand off.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Spike caught a subtle, barely noticeable motion of Travers' head in the direction of his assistant – followed by the slight shift in weight of the man behind him, his foot still pinning the vampire's wrists to the ground.

It was precious little warning – but it was enough for Spike.

Instinctively, he knew that by some subtle order from Travers, the man was about to shoot Buffy, ending the tense standoff before the Slayer would actually think to pull the trigger. Unlike Travers and those who worked for him, she would not actually shoot unless she knew for a fact that she had no other option.

She didn't know it yet – but she was in just such a situation now.

There was little that Spike could do to stop what was about to happen – but he was determined to do what he could.

He gathered all his strength and suddenly drew his arms up behind him, leaning forward sharply against the weapon in Travers' hand, and pushing it off to the side slightly. The position he was in gave him little leverage to work with, but the sharp, unexpected upward movement of the handcuffs under the man's foot was enough to throw him off balance, sending him stumbling backwards a couple of steps – and freeing Spike to snap the chains from his wrists in another quick, powerful movement.

With a loud blast, the bullet that had been intended for the Slayer soared off across the night sky – utterly harmless now.

The moment that Buffy saw what Spike had done, and what had been about to happen, she lunged forward, into the fray. There was no going back now – the fight had started – and she knew that any moment now Travers would re-aim his weapon and attempt to end her mate's existence.

Sure enough, just as she reached him, Travers was aiming the weapon at the vampire, who was just rising to his feet. Buffy caught the older man's wrist, jerking him around to face her, away from his intended target.

It was a pitifully mis-matched fight.

Travers never stood a chance.

Within moments Buffy had wrested the gun from his grasp, pocketing it quickly, freeing her hand to grip Travers' lapels and slam him up against his own car, menace and fury blazing from her emerald eyes.

Spike grinned at the picture his girl made, all fury and power and danger – bloody intoxicating, she was…

Suddenly, his attention was drawn again by a movement off to his left, and he turned to look at the other Watcher. He had regained his footing, backing off from the scene a few yards, and was now taking aim at the Slayer once more.

There was no hesitation – not the briefest instant's consideration of the possible consequences – as Spike lunged across the few short feet that separated him from the man, intent on stopping him before he could pull the trigger.

Only in the moment when his body hit that of the Watcher, hurling him to the ground and knocking the weapon from his grasp – in that brief instant before they both fell to the desert sand – did it cross Spike's mind to wonder whether or not he would find himself in excruciating agony once the Watcher's body made painful impact with the ground.

It didn't matter. If it killed him – he would not let the man harm his mate.

No time left to wonder, mate, he told himself grimly. In another bloody second – you'll know.


	87. Chapter 87

The blast of the shot behind her sent a jolt of terror through the Slayer's heart – and she turned halfway around to see what had happened, though she did not release her grip on Travers.

"Spike!" she cried out in fear, a sense of dread rising in her, before she could notice whether or not he had been harmed by the deadly wood-tipped bullet.

When she turned, she was stunned and relieved to see that the vampire was not dust; but rather, he was apparently quite well – in fact, fully vamped out and pinning the other Watcher to the ground, snarling with menace into his face, his feral golden eyes glittering in the desert moonlight.

A moment's panic came over her as she thought of Spike's chip, and hoped desperately that he would not do anything to get himself hurt. If the Watcher still had a gun, and the chip fired – rendering Spike unable to defend himself -- there would be no way that she could get to them before the human could fire off the killing shot that it would take to end her mate's existence.

But as the next couple of moments passed, Buffy realized that if the chip was going to go off, it would have by now, after the forceful shove that Spike had employed to knock the Watcher to the ground and the chip had not fired.

Was not going to fire.

Spike was free.

Some part of Buffy realized that she should be concerned – should be wondering about what her duty was in all this. She knew in her mind that this meant that the blonde vampire was now free to return to his old ways, if he so chose – and she should have felt something about that -- sorrow, regret, determination, in the duty that she might very well be called upon at some point to perform, now that he was back to being her mortal enemy.

But in that moment -- all the Slayer felt was utter and complete relief.

The chip had not fired.

Her mate was alive and well, and the enemy was subdued – and that was all that mattered to Buffy in that moment.

Huh, she thought with mild surprise. Go figure.

Spike braced himself for the familiar jolt of agony to come coursing through his head, aware that it would be enough to incapacitate him completely, if the groan of pain coming from the man he was holding down was any indication. He could only hope that his actions had given Buffy enough time to gain the upper hand in the conflict against Travers.

It would all be up to her now – once the chip's punishment had taken him effectively out of the battle.

They really had no way of knowing whether or not it would work, now that Red's spell had been reversed. A part of him was very sure that the chip would still be functioning. There was no logical reason for it to be turned off now, now that the spell's other result – the Slayer demon's release – had been ended.

Yep. His brain was about to get fried.

Any second now….

Nothing.

The man on the ground beneath Spike seemed as stunned as Spike was by the lack of reaction from the chip – his eyes slowly widening in fear, as he stared up at the creature above him, who had gone in an instant from a helpless, insignificant thing to be used and thrown away as the Council saw fit – to a very significant, and in fact terrifying, threat – a violent, awe-inspiring force to be reckoned with.

The vampire's features shifted as a wicked grin spread across his face, and he met the Watcher's eyes with a satisfied smirk, as the truth of the matter sank in for him as well.

The chip was gone. He did not know how, or when; it didn't really make sense, all things considered.

It didn't matter.

He was free.

"Spike!" Buffy's cry of alarm suddenly registered in his mind, drawing him out of his exultant thoughts.

It had all happened in the briefest of instants – and in the tension of wondering whether or not his chip would fire, her cry had not registered with him at first.

But now – her voice, her fear, filled his mind.

He hesitated for just a moment at the sound of her trembling voice, looking up at her with uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly – a new sense of apprehension came over him. What would Buffy think – what would she do -- now that his chip was no longer functioning, and he was free to revert to his old ways?

Suddenly, the question filled his mind with overwhelming intensity.

What would he do, now that he was able to be himself again?

Only a few brief days had passed since he had escaped the Initiative, and found out that his life had been profoundly changed, his very free will stolen from him with a simple little piece of technology. When he had discovered what they had done to him, all he could think about was finding a way to un-do it – to return to what he had once been.

And now that that appeared to be possible – he was not sure if the person he had once been even existed anymore.

There was no denying that his primal instincts were calling to him in that moment – calling out for the destruction and bloodshed of this man that was part of the threat that had come against him and his own. He could well imagine sinking his fangs into the man's throat, ripping it from his body, relishing the screams of agony that came from his enemy in the moments before his death.

And he could imagine the look on Buffy's face when he met her eyes afterwards.

Even before the chip, he had never really been a proper vampire, he had to admit – not like others he had known who seemed to have no trace of human emotion or compassion left. He had been close to Joyce and Dawn, long before the chip – and he never would have wanted them to see him in the act of feeding, or even really to know some of the things that he had done in the past, had been doing, even while he was enjoying nightly visits to their home.

But that did not mean that he had stopped feeding – killing – doing what, as a vampire, was his nature to do.

But – the chip had changed all that.

Could he go back to that, now?

Now that the Slayer was his mate – now that he knew that she could feel, know, everything that he did and felt – and vice versa? Could he really expect her to accept what he was, his true nature, when it was her duty and her destiny to destroy his kind?

Could he expect her to allow him to kill?

He searched her eyes silently, his expression shifting slowly from its demon guise to his smooth human features. She was calmer now, meeting his gaze evenly, now that the threat to his safety seemed to have passed.

Buffy regarded the little tableau for a moment, uncertain herself as to what she would do, now that Spike was no longer the helpless creature that had come to Giles' door a few days back. They were going to have a lot to deal with – a lot to work through – from the abuse and trauma he had suffered at her hands over the past few days, to this most recent development. She wasn't sure exactly how she would handle it – but she knew one thing.

"He tried to kill me, Spike," she reminded her mate, her expression calm, even, her eyes cold and deadly as they regarded the man that the vampire was pinning to the ground. "He was going to kill my family, my Watcher, my mate – he was going to destroy my entire world – and then go right on pretending to be some kind of father figure to the next girl chosen to protect the world."

It was clear by the time she reached the end of her statement that she was talking about Travers as much as the other Watcher. The older man swallowed hard, and tried to pull out of the Slayer's unyielding grasp.

This did not sound good.

But Buffy did not let him go.

She met Spike's eyes openly, honestly, without the slightest hint of accusation or uncertainty, as she went on, "You do what you have to do with that one, Spike. They just beat you without mercy when you were on your knees and unable to fight them back – I'd say whatever strength you can take back from them – well…whatever you do – I won't ever hold it against you." She turned to look at Travers instead, a cool smile on her lips as she added, "Mr. Travers and I need to have a little conversation…"

Travers' eyes grew wide, and he shook his head slightly in aghast disbelief at her words. "M-miss Summers!" he stammered out in an accusing tone. "You mean to say that you would allow that – that creature to feed on a human – to take a human life – while looking the other way! That you would take the side of the creatures you are born to destroy, over the side of…"

"The man who just kidnapped my family and tried to kill me?" Buffy finished for him, a certain innocence to her wide-eyed smile. She paused for a moment, as if actually considering the question, before meeting his eyes again and nodding slowly and certainly.

"Yeah," she answered quietly. "I would."

"Think of the consequences of your actions, Miss Summers," Travers insisted, his voice hard and severe, despite the perilous nature of his situation. He still managed to take a tone with his captor that resembled that of a harsh schoolmaster reprimanding an unruly student. "Do you really think that you can get away with this? And what do you hope to accomplish, anyway? Do you really think that the rest of the Council would let our deaths go unanswered for?"

"Well – no," Buffy conceded with a little shrug. "Which is why I'm really hoping I won't have to kill you…"

"What is it that you expect to accomplish, then?" he asked, frowning.

"Well, in the first place," the Slayer explained, her voice deceptively calm. "Payback." Her angry eyes narrowed on Travers as she went on softly, "I saw the bruise on my mother's face – that wasn't there a few hours before…"

She said no more then, allowing her fist to express just what she thought of Travers, or his men – she really didn't care who had struck the blow; Travers was responsible – striking her mother. The older man crumpled to the ground, gasping and choking on a mouthful of his own blood – and the Slayer crouched down beside him with a smile, as he scrambled back against the side of his car, eyeing her with terrified suspicion.

"If you ever touch my mother again, Travers – all bets will be off. I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?" Buffy demanded, her eyebrows raised in expectant question.

"Yes," Travers nodded, realizing that it was wisest to go along with what the Slayer wanted, at least outwardly – and wait for his opportunity to turn the tables again.

Buffy stood up straight, glaring down at him in disgust, as he struggled to pull himself back up. "And then there's the whole 'holding my little sister prisoner and threatening her life' thing…"

A vicious kick to the man's stomach punished that particular offense…

"…and beating up my mate…"

Another kick, another fist to Travers' face…

"…thinking that me and my entire life and family were 'expendable' – just tools of the Council…if you want a new Slayer, just go out and make one…who cares that you have to kill innocent women and children to do it!"

As Buffy went on railing about the Council's many varied crimes, she let loose her fury upon the fallen Watcher, her fists and feet taking out the frustration and anger of the past few days on this man who now symbolized all that was left to oppose her. By the time she managed to regain control of the pain and rage coursing through her, the Watcher was barely conscious on the ground.

A sense of alarm, a niggling warning sensation in the back of her mind, stopped her then, before she could take it any farther. Travers deserved more than she had given him, both for the damage he had done, and for what he had almost done.

But she knew that it would cost her too much, to be the one to take his life.

She crouched down beside him once more, catching her breath, regarding him through intent eyes of emerald fury, watching for a moment to be sure that he was still aware enough to hear her.

"The Slayer demon is back where she belongs – and I'm back in control," she informed him. "You'll find that the Slayer line is back to normal – well – as normal as it's ever gonna be again…so your little field trip into the land of kidnapping and child murder was completely pointless."

She paused for a moment, as the man looked up at her sharply through the haze of pain that seemed to surround him, clearly surprised by her announcement.

"That's right – we managed to finish the ritual without actually destroying the Slayer…but I guess that's obvious, or should be. I'm still here," she shrugged simply, holding his gaze with solemn intensity. "So you can just go back to England and carry on with looking after the only Slayer that you should concern yourself with – the one who's currently doing time in prison – because if you'll remember correctly -- this Slayer already quit your Council."

She stood up straight again, satisfied, when Travers nodded weakly. She turned slowly toward where Spike and the other Watcher were, barely paying attention to Travers as he replied quietly.

"Quite all right with me," he mumbled, his voice slurred with pain and weakness from the beating he had endured. "I believe the Council can do very well without your assistance, Miss Summers…"

"Yeah," Buffy scoffed, without facing him, her eyes focused on Spike as he rose to his feet, above the still form of the other Watcher. "Because you've averted so many apocalypses without my help!"

Spike had not looked up at her yet, as he straightened up, catching his breath, though he didn't need it in the first place. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, before looking up at her a bit self-consciously – and she realized with a pang that it was that simple gesture, the reminder of what he was, that had made him question her reaction to him now.

But she barely had time to think about it, before the expression on his face turned to horror, and he took a step forward, crying out her name.

"Buffy!"

Confused, stunned, and in a bit of a daze after the insanity of the evening, Buffy slowly realized that he was looking beyond her – at Travers. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she quickly turned to see what the man was about to do…

But not before a single shot rang out in the stillness of the desert.

Buffy completed the turn, to face the Watcher, even as her hand flew to her chest, and she lost her breath with fear – and the expectation of severe pain…which never came. Despite her assumptions upon hearing the sound, despite the gun that had just fallen from Travers' hand, and lay beside his still hand on the cool desert sand…

She had not been shot.

Travers had not pulled the trigger.

He could not have; he was the one who was now lying there, lifeless, blood slowly seeping from a small round hole in his chest – just over his heart. Ironically, the life of the corrupt Council leader had been taken with a wooden-tipped bullet from one of his own weapons.

Apparently – staking through the heart worked just as well on humans as on vampires.

At least – when the stake was fired at ninety miles an hour from the barrel of a gun.

Before her stunned mind could process what had happened, she felt strong arms envelop her from behind, pulling her back against the cool, steadying form of her mate – and she vaguely noticed the pistol that he held clenched in his right hand, even as his trembling arms embraced her.

"Buffy…Buffy…" he whispered almost desperately – and the sound of the momentary fear, fear of losing her, that he had felt, even after everything…

Buffy could have sworn that in that moment, she literally felt her strained-to-the-limits, sore and battered, violated heart finally break – and with it, the floodgates of her emotions.

She turned in Spike's arms, wrapping her own around him, pulling him close to her as her tears flowed down her face.

"Oh, Spike…" she whispered tearfully, her hands clutching at his waist and pulling him in closer to her, as a sense of relief came over her that he was offering her his affection – that he was not pulling away from her…

It was a premature relief.

Suddenly, with a sharp, shuddering intake of breath, Spike pulled urgently back from her, taking her arms and pushing them off of him, pushing her away slightly and standing a few feet from her, breathing hard as he tried to regain control of the sudden surge of emotion that had nearly overcome him.

"S-spike?" Buffy whispered uncertainly, edging nearer to him. She wanted to comfort him – but there had been no mistaking the emotions behind his actions.

She felt a cold ache beginning in her chest with the realization that he had not yet put into words.

He didn't want her to touch him.

But – could she blame him?

"Buffy, it's – it's all right," he insisted, his voice sounding awkward and uncomfortable – and he refused to meet her eyes.

Why wouldn't he meet her eyes?

"Look – we need to hurry, love…get these two taken care of and get back to the car. Niblet and Joyce are waiting, yeah?" Spike's voice sounded nervous and evasive, as he turned away from her without waiting for a response, returning to lean over the other fallen Watcher, checking his vital signs almost automatically.

He was still alive.

"Spike?" Buffy spoke his name in a small, tentative whisper, edging cautiously nearer to him.

"Had to shoot that one – he would have killed you, pet," Spike went on, without turning to look at her. "This one – he's still alive…what do you think we should…"

"Spike."

The single, intent word was spoken as she placed her hand on his arm – and her stomach dropped within her as she felt him tense under her touch. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, as he struggled to suppress an involuntary shudder at her touch – all too similar to the invasive, abusive touch of the Slayer who had spent the evening torturing and violating him.

It should be similar – it was the same touch, really.

"Buffy – let it be," he advised her, his voice low and soft with repressed emotion, though he didn't pull away from her – yet.

"Spike – please…can't we just…"

"I said let it be, Slayer!" he snapped, jerking away from her then, though he kept his eyes averted, still refusing to look at her.

Buffy's voice was nearly frantic as she insisted desperately, "But – we have to talk this out! We have to…"

"No, that's where you're wrong, Slayer!" Spike cut her off sharply – and the use of her title instead of her name struck her with the force of a blow. "I don't have to do anything right now! Yeah – maybe we need to talk it over – get it out – do the whole lovey dovey, kiss and make up thing…but honestly, pet – I just can't bloody well do that right now."

He was silent for a moment, his voice softening as he added, "The very thought…just… just makes me…"

He did not finish the statement, but the expression on his face made it clear; Buffy knew exactly what he had been about to say.

…makes me sick…

And she realized in that moment, she had only thought that she had felt her heart breaking a few moments before – as it shattered to pieces around her when her mate turned his back on her again.


	88. Chapter 88

"He's gonna wake up before too long," Spike said, his voice low and controlled again – all traces of the intense emotion that had momentarily overwhelmed him, now vanished from his voice. "Let's see what they've got in the boot – gotta have something to tie him up with, yeah?"

"Spike…"

The vampire did not respond as he opened the driver's side door of the car and took the keys from the ignition, then moved around to the back of the vehicle to open the trunk. Sure enough, there were a couple of lengths of good, sturdy rope, as well as a couple of shovels and other suspicious looking tools.

"Just your bloody stereotypical murderer's gear," Spike shrugged with grim irony, as he took out the rope and strode across the sand back to the still unconscious Watcher – completely ignoring the anxious Slayer that seemed to follow his every move, just a couple of feet behind him.

Buffy's tone was pleading, desperate, as she begged him in a voice that trembled with tears, "Spike – please talk to me…tell me what…what…"

"Maybe you'd best go pull the car up, love…your Watcher will know what to do, yeah?" Spike suggested, looking up at her briefly as he expertly bound the hands and feet of the fallen man. "This Council stuff is more along his lines of work, anyway…he'll know the best way to go from here."

Buffy was silent for a long moment, staring down at him, her frantic mind trying to process his cool rejection of her plea, the stony resolve in his voice as he made it very clear that for the moment, she was dismissed.

He had absolutely no intention of discussing this right now.

His determined rejection would have aroused her indignation and fury – if she had not heard the unmistakable note of desperation behind it – the unspoken plea in his voice to do as he had asked – and just let it be.

He wasn't ready yet.

So – Buffy let it be…for the moment.

Tears streaked her face as she turned without a word, and strode off across the sand toward the parked DeSoto, invisible in the darkness of the desert that surrounded it.

Spike felt the ache of her emotions, as if they were his own, through the claim that bound them, and he froze as she walked away, setting his jaw in resolution, not to do the one thing that a part of him longed to do in that moment – to go after her, to comfort her – to take her arm and turn her around and pull her into his embrace, reassuring her that he was still hers, and she was his, and he still loved her with everything in him.

He did still love her, completely.

And that was why it hurt so much.

Yes, he wanted to go after her – but if he did, he knew what he would see when he turned her around to face him.

The face of his torturer.

She would wrap her arms around him, clinging to him with all she was worth for the comfort he was offering her – and he would feel the suffocating, restricting vise of the Slayer's grip…unrelenting, abusive, controlling…

But Buffy's not like that…she would never… he reminded himself, shaking his head slowly as he tried to make sense of the whole situation.

He was just so bloody confused.

It was not Buffy's fault, not really, the things that had happened to him – though her own foolish trust in listening to her Watcher's idea was what had brought the whole thing about. Still – it was not Buffy that had nearly killed him this very night. It was not his mate that had hurt him – that had tortured and terrorized him, played vicious mind games with him in an effort to dominate him completely, to break him.

Not her, he reminded himself firmly, closing his eyes and trying to accept it – then giving up for the moment with a weary sigh, bowing his head and choking back a sob of his own, that went unheard in the stillness that surrounded him. He was alone for a few more moments, with no one but the unconscious Watcher as company.

Not her – but it bloody well looks like her – sounds like her – feels like her…

"Bloody hell," he whispered, sinking back on his knees in the sand as he finished his task of binding their prisoner, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he drew in a few deep breaths that bloody well felt necessary at the moment.

He felt like he was drowning.

Oh, Buffy, Buffy, love, the soft, anguished sob rang out in his mind, though the words were not intended to actually be heard across the link that joined them. What are we going to do?

By the time the DeSoto was pulled up to park, still a good distance from, but within sight of, Travers' sleek, black sedan – the blonde vampire had managed to compose himself – mostly. His tears had been checked, and his expression was calm and controlled, as Giles, limping, but apparently feeling a bit stronger now, got out of the car with Buffy and Joyce.

Buffy had made it severely clear in no uncertain terms that Dawn was not to get out of the car. She had parked quite a ways away, but she wanted to take no chances on Dawn's seeing Travers' body.

"Good Lord," Giles muttered, his eyes going wide, as he stumbled to a stop on the other side of Travers' car, a few feet from the lifeless body of his former employer.

Spike was silent, regarding the Watcher with solemn eyes. There had been no other way; if he had not shot Travers, the man would have killed Buffy. Still, he knew that when it came to him, Buffy's Watcher and friends had a very strong disposition to take whatever side happened to be not his – and he could not take it for granted that that would not be the case now.

"He had to," Joyce reminded the Watcher softly, echoing Spike's thoughts as she stopped, a few steps away from Giles, her eyes focused on the dead body in front of them with horrified fascination. "Travers was going to kill Buffy."

Buffy had told them what had happened, briefly, in the car. She wanted them to be prepared for what they would see when they got out.

Really – there was no way that Giles could have been prepared.

His inscrutable ice blue eyes moved slowly between his fallen colleague and the subtlely defiant face of the vampire who had taken his life, several times, before he finally spoke, his voice quiet and firm.

"Thank you."

Spike could not hide the surprise he felt at those words, his eyes widening slightly, before he dropped his gaze self-consciously, afraid that his traitorous eyes might reveal too much of the powerful emotions swirling around him, surrounding and engulfing him until he no longer knew what he was feeling exactly.

But – to hear the acceptance in the Watcher's tone…it meant a lot to Spike. More than he would have expected it to, in fact.

"Yeah, well – couldn't let him hurt her. But now we've got a problem. What do we do with them?"

"Them?" Giles' gaze had fallen on Travers again, but he raised it sharply to meet Spike's eyes again in a question.

The vampire nodded simply toward the other Watcher, bound and still unconscious a few feet away. Giles took in the sight for a few moments, before looking to Buffy. "I'm assuming – the Slayer situation is under control?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes downcast and welling with tears. She could not bring herself to meet Spike's eyes at the moment, not while discussing anything even remotely related to the ordeal he had been through.

"Yes," she said softly. "My Slayerness is back under wraps…where it belongs…"

"Very good," Giles nodded slowly, a little grimace of regret passing across his face. "Now that that little debacle is over – I believe the time has come to call the others back. I believe that Willow might be of some service to us in this situation – perhaps a – a memory wipe of sorts?" he suggested, frowning in thought as he considered how best to handle the problem of the still living Watcher. "It's a relatively simple spell."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded slowly, frowning. She didn't like the idea of Willow's doing any more magic, but if it was simple magic, it was better than killing the man. "That might work."

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, shaking his head and turning away from them both with a harsh, bitter laugh.

"What?" Buffy's voice was defensive, anxious, as she turned her eyes on her mate. "What is it?"

He turned back to stare at her in disbelief, shaking his head. "Buffy – how can you even think…?" His voice trailed off, as he looked away again.

"Look," Joyce broke in softly, stepping forward, placing herself between the Watcher and the Slayer on one side, and the vampire on the other. "I'm no expert on all this – magic and vampires and Slayers and all – but it seems to me that there is no way that Willow needs to be doing any more magic." She paused for a moment, giving her daughter and Giles a dubious look, as she added, "She doesn't seem to be very good at it."

"Yes, but – with the proper guidance…" Giles began to protest.

"Which she obviously hasn't had yet." Joyce's voice took on a severe note as her eyes narrowed on the Watcher. "Maybe, at some point down the road, she might be able to handle it. But in the mean time – when this spell went so terribly wrong – do you really think she ought to be messing around in someone's head again?"

"As I said, it's a very simple spell," Giles insisted. "Just to alter one man's memories to not include the events of the past few days…"

"And what about the rest of the bloody Council?" Spike demanded, re-entering the conversation, his voice trembling with anger. "You gonna have Red fix their memories, too? Because I'd wager the whole Council is aware of this little situation as you so dismissively put it! And don't you think it's gonna be a bit suspicious if this one guy turns up, not knowing what happened, and Travers never shows up? They'll just send someone else…unless you wanna get the little witch started on some really heavy mojo…"

He paused, shaking his head and clearly trying to regain control, before he added in a quiet voice full of shaken emotion, masked by sarcasm, "Yeah. Go right ahead. Maybe this time she'll actually get someone killed." He glanced down at Travers with a dark look, before muttering pointedly, "Oh, right – already there, and can't see how it was any great loss. Yeah. Right. Have her go right ahead."

"Spike, don't…" Buffy began, a note of apology in her voice – but she couldn't stand the turn the conversation was taking.

"Yes I bloody well will!" Spike snarled, whirling around quickly and stalking swiftly toward her, his eyes flashing golden, mere inches from hers. "I am through taking orders from you, Slayer! I'll speak if I bloody well want – now that you don't have the power to magically seal my lips..." His voice softened slightly on the end, and the look of pain that flashed across his face was unmistakable, sending a stab of remorse through the Slayer's heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching a hand up toward his face in an instinctive gesture of comfort. "Spike, I'm so sorry…"

Before her hand could make contact, the blonde vampire jerked away with a sharp little intake of breath that revealed the sudden jolt of fear that he could not help but feel – and everyone froze, stunned at his reaction.

But I shouldn't be, Buffy reminded herself, the ache in her chest building until she thought her heart would burst. God, what I've done to him!

Humiliated by his own reaction to his mate's touch, Spike closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "Let's – let's just go," he said in a soft voice of defeat, as he started off toward the car. "You lot do what you want with him – not my problem anymore, is it?"

"Spike…" Buffy whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears as she started off after him.

But Joyce caught her arm gently, holding her back. "Buffy, honey," she said softly. "Just – just give him some space. This has gotta be really hard for him…"

"But – but he won't even let me make this right! I want to, so bad, and…"

"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" Joyce demanded, not angry, but a challenge in her voice. "By saying sorry? Buffy – it's not gonna be that easy."

Buffy had no words; she knew her mother was right.

The only question was – what would it take to fix this?

Joyce allowed the words to sink in, silent for a moment, before turning her attention to the Watcher. "I really don't think Willow's doing magic is a good thing – especially not to manipulate someone's thoughts…"

Giles sighed and shook his head in concession. "No," he agreed. "I suppose you're right. I'll need to – dispose of the body, I suppose…somehow…that might be accomplished by magical means…"

At Joyce's look of alarm, he smiled softly.

"Willow's not the only one who knows a bit of magic, Joyce…and I've had a lot of time to get mine under control."

His smile faded as he turned his eyes to the other Watcher. "And as for him," he said quietly, but with a note of deadly certainty to his voice that sent a shiver down Joyce's spine. "There are other – non-magical – ways, of ensuring that something you wish to be a secret, remains so…"

"You're not going to kill him?" Buffy asked, alarmed, studying her Watcher's grim expression, which was just shifting into the hint of a cold smile.

"No," he assured her. "I won't have to."

Spike stopped by the driver's side door, leaning his back against it and reaching for his cigarettes with trembling hands. He somehow managed to get them out, and take one from the package. Lighting it, on the other hand, was another issue altogether.

He jumped a mile, master vampire or no, when the back driver's window rolled down, and Dawn spoke quietly, matter-of-factly.

"Need some help with that?"

He cursed his own weakness of emotion, too obvious to the teen in the car, before answering her without looking at her.

"Believe I've got it, Bit…thanks."

"Uh-huh. Looks like you've got it," she replied sarcastically. "If your goal is to set yourself on fire with that thing."

Spike cursed softly under his breath, flinging the uncooperative lighter to the ground and snapping tersely, "Just drop it, Bit, okay? It's been a rough night!" He put the cigarettes back in his pocket and ran a shaking hand through his disheveled blonde hair, turning his eyes away from her before she could see the tears that were building there.

He had to keep it under control; no sense scaring his Bit, breaking down in front of her.

Yeah – yelling at her's so much soddin' better, he thought with a wave of bitter self-disgust.

The small, gentle hand on his arm stopped him cold, and he froze, trying to still the tremors running through him, revealing his emotions to her – but he could not make himself pull away.

At that moment, he needed the tenderness too much.

"You know," Dawn said, her soft, childish voice full of an innocence and affection that brought the tears dangerously close to falling. "It's okay -- not to be okay, Spike. With us. It's okay. You know that, right?"

The simple sincerity of her words, the innocent love and concern, was the master vampire's undoing.

The tremors he had been trying to control shook him uncontrollably, as he raised his hands to his bowed head, silent sobs shaking his body as he leaned back against the car.

Dawn's eyes widened in shock for a moment – before she suddenly recovered, her jaw setting with determination as she glanced back toward her sister, her mother, and the Watcher, still standing by the other car talking about what to do.

She remembered her sister's instructions not to get out of the car – but there was no possible way she could see anything traumatic from here.

Anything besides her always strong best friend, falling apart before her eyes.

"Buffy can get over it," she muttered, as she opened the car door and got out, standing in front of the vampire and wrapping her arms around him in an almost fierce hug, simply standing there and embracing him with the open simplicity of the child that she was just beyond being.

And within that embrace – for the few moments he had before the Slayer and her Watcher would return to the car…and he would have to put up his brave front again, or risk revealing more to them than he wanted to just yet…Spike allowed his bitter tears to flow.


	89. Chapter 89

"What is it, Spike?" Dawn asked softly after a few minutes of just standing there, holding her friend close to her. "What's wrong?"

She thought that it probably sounded like a very foolish question, all things considered – but she wanted to know what had had such a profound effect on her friend as to make him break down like this, in a way he never had before, not in front of her, anyway. She knew that the past few days had been very hard on the vampire, but she really had no concept of just how traumatic it had been – just what torment and degradation he had been through at the hands – if not the will – of her sister.

And if Spike had his way – she never would know.

He pulled gently back from her, sniffing back tears and forcing a shaky smile to his lips. "No cause for worry, pet. I'll be all right. Just a bit shaken up, is all. Been quite a night of it."

"Right," Dawn replied slowly, pulling back to meet his eyes with a dubious look. "Nothing to worry about – you're just falling apart before my eyes. The 'Big Bad' breaking down in tears and shaking like a leaf. Nope. Nothing to worry about there."

Spike looked away from the perception in her piercing blue eyes, and the knowing irony in her words, gently taking her arms and pushing her back as he tried to change the subject in a soft, shaking voice, just barely coming back under his control.

"Look, Bit, they're coming," he said when he saw the Slayer and her mother returning, and his heart was filled with a strange mixture of relief, that he had been rescued from the conversation he did not want to have; and dread, that he would have to face Buffy again, far before he was ready. "We'd best get in the car and get ready to go…"

Dawn looked across the sand and saw with some disappointment that her family was indeed headed their way. Apparently, Giles was staying behind for some reason. She sighed wearily in acceptance, knowing that if Spike was not inclined to tell her anything now, she certainly would not make any progress in finding out what was going on, once they were surrounded by the others as well.

She frowned as the vampire chose a door to the car and opened it.

"You don't actually think you're gonna drive in this condition, do you?" she asked flatly. "I mean – you'd do better drunk." She paused, before adding with a little shrug, "You probably have."

"Well you're bloody well not driving," he retorted with a mild scoff of derision. "The Watcher's most likely gonna come back in Travers' car…he's got some business to take care of, I'd wager. And your big sis is never driving my car again, if I have anything to say about it…"

"Mom could drive," Dawn offered with a little shrug.

"No," Joyce broke in quietly, just as she and Buffy reached them. "Buffy did just fine on the way over here – how about letting her drive us back?"

Spike looked up at the pointed tone in Joyce's voice, aware that the woman had a specific reason for her suggestion. He considered for a moment – and decided that whatever her reasoning was, it was probably for the best.

In most cases, Joyce was a very wise woman.

"Right, then," he agreed wearily. "That's fine – if you're okay with that, Slayer."

Buffy flinched at the use of her title, but nodded without looking at him. "That's fine."

She was considerably more subdued now than she had been before. She was not trying to speak to him, trying to push him to talk to her, like she had been doing before, and the gentle mental probing he had felt before, as she had tried to get at what he was thinking, feeling, through the link that connected them, had ceased for the moment.

He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, that she longed to try again to work out this situation that he was not sure they ever could work out – but she had been convinced, somehow, to let it go for the moment – much to his relief. He simply needed time to think it all through, to come to terms with all that had happened over the past few days, before he even attempted to come to any conclusions as to where to go from here.

And for whatever reason, though she had not been a few minutes earlier, Buffy now seemed willing to give him that time.

Just another thing he had to be grateful to Joyce for, he was sure.

"You wanna take shotgun, Dawnie?" Joyce suggested with a smile, though her tone was leading, and her eyes were serous.

Dawn pouted for a moment; she had wanted to be the one to be by Spike's side, to offer him support during the awkward ride home – but even she could see the relief in the blonde vampire's blue eyes at the suggestion. Suddenly, she remembered several times during her own childhood when all it had taken was her mother's nearness and comforting reassurance to make her feel better – and she knew that her mother was right.

What Spike needed right now was something that she did not have to offer.

"Okay," she agreed easily. "Works for me."

"So – back to the hotel?" Buffy asked, sounding listless and unusually subdued, as they piled into the car. "To get our stuff? And then – home?"

"Sounds good," Joyce sighed wearily, getting into the backseat beside Spike and giving him a gentle, encouraging smile. "I don't know about you guys but I am more than ready to be home."

No one else spoke; their recent memories of home were really not very pleasant ones.

As Buffy pulled the car back onto the highway, Dawn reached over and fiddled with the radio, turning it up to fill the weighted silence that had fallen over the car.

"You know your taste in music sucks, right?" she informed her friend teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood that filled the vehicle, maybe even draw him into an argument that might bring out a bit of the Spike she knew so well.

"Turn it off, then," he said quietly, his eyes focused out the window across the desert, his voice listless and calm.

Dawn frowned, disappointed by his lack of an appropriate response to her jibe. "No," she said slowly. "I think I'll tolerate it." As she turned back around, she muttered under her breath, too low for anyone but Spike to hear over the blasting music, "I'll take skanky punk music over awkward depressive silence anytime, thank you."

There was no true irritation in her voice; she was simply observing a fact. She had not even intended for anyone to hear her words – and Spike had to admit, she was right. The silence would have been unbearable.

Even Joyce did not comment on the music that at any other time she would have found obnoxious.

She studied the expressionless face of the blonde vampire, visible only in profile as he stared out the window, concern in her soft blue eyes. After a moment, she raised a gentle arm to wrap around his tense shoulders, tugging him slightly toward her.

Spike jumped at the unexpected touch, turning startled, fearful blue eyes on her – but he did not make a sound – and he did not pull away.

"Come here, Sweetie," Joyce urged him gently in a whisper, squeezing his shoulders gently and pulling him nearer to her, into her embrace. "Come on."

Spike held her gaze for a moment longer, obviously undecided. He was torn between doing his best to hold it together, trying to handle this on his own – and giving in to the deep need he felt for human contact – comfort and affection found in the touch of someone that he knew loved him without condition.

Joyce studied his expression for a moment longer, her eyes softening with tender sympathy for the undeniable pain in his expressive, open eyes, before she leaned in close to him, bending down to whisper so that no one but him could hear her words – though no one could have anyway, above the loud music.

"Spike – it's okay to fall apart with me. I'll help hold you together, Honey. I'm a Mom – it's what I'm here for."

His eyes welled with fresh tears at the tender compassion in her voice, the sensation of warmth and safety and relief that surrounded him with her words. Almost all of his reluctance melted away as he shifted closer to her, without even realizing he was doing it.

She raised her head to meet his eyes again, with a deep, penetrating look that would not allow him to look away – and she could see that he was on the verge of giving in completely, accepting the unconditional love and comfort that she was offering him. His pride, however, did not want to allow him to break down in front of the person that a part of him still perceived to be his enemy – his very own mate.

Joyce knew that Buffy was not his enemy – but it would be expecting far too much from Spike at the moment to expect him to be willing to show such vulnerability in front of Buffy, if he could help it.

There was understanding in her eyes, as she leaned in again to whisper, raising her other arm to draw him into a protective embrace, "She won't be able to see you, if she looks in the mirror. The music's too loud for her to hear you – it's okay, Spike. It's okay. You can let it go. Okay?"

Her words were exactly the reassurance that he needed to hear, as he finally lowered his head onto her shoulder with a silent gasp of mingled anguish and relief. Joyce raised a hand to the back of his head, holding him close to her, running her fingers soothingly through his hair, as she whispered gentle sounds of comfort in his ear.

She was not really sure what exact emotions were being expressed with his reaction, as she could not hear the slightest sound from the vampire, but his body shook against her, as he leaned into her embrace, allowing her to hold him – and after a few moments, the cool moisture she felt seeping into the shoulder of her blouse told her that he was crying.

Dawn glanced back over her shoulder to see how her friend was doing, and her eyes widened in surprise at the poignant scene that met them – the master vampire, held in his broken state, by the strong yet gentle, amazing woman that was Joyce Summers – her mother.

She glanced anxiously at her sister, wondering if she was at all aware of it. Buffy wanted so badly to fix things, to make them right again – but it seemed pretty obvious to Dawn that at the moment, she just needed to back off, and give Spike some space. She hoped that Buffy had not noticed Spike's emotional breakdown in the backseat; she herself would not have noticed it, had she not happened to look behind her.

Still, Buffy seemed to somehow sense that something was happening; she kept glancing anxiously in the rearview mirror, as if, if she looked long and hard enough, she might begin to see the nonexistent reflection of her mate there. Dawn glanced back again, trying to picture what the scene would look like if she could not see Spike. She figured that it would still be fairly obvious to her sister what was going on – and she knew that Spike did not particularly want Buffy to see his vulnerability at the moment.

The fact that Buffy seemed to be trying so hard to see it, in spite of that fact, roused Dawn's anger.

"Buffy," she snapped, her voice low enough that it did not draw the attention of Spike or her mother. She had every intention of telling her sister just what she thought of her, and what she had done to her friend.

But the look in the Slayer's wide, tearful eyes when they turned to meet hers froze the harsh words on Dawn's lips.

Buffy looked so heart-broken, so devastated and sick with guilt, that Dawn felt her anger melting away in concern for her sister. Buffy was the one who was always together, always strong and confident; now, it was obvious in her face how very sorry she was for what had happened – how desperately she longed to be able to repair the damage she had done.

And just beyond those emotions, Dawn could finally see the intense pain and confusion that Buffy felt, over her own trauma in this situation. For the first time, it occurred to Dawn – Buffy had had her body hijacked by a cruel entity that had used it to torture and abuse her mate, to try to kill her family – while she could do nothing but sit helplessly by and watch it happen.

Suddenly, Dawn felt a wave of remorse for her lack of sensitivity to her sister's pain.

Buffy had made a terrible, foolish mistake, in carrying out the ritual her Watcher had suggested, without researching it further, without really knowing what she was doing – and it had resulted in Spike's being viciously tortured and terrorized – damaged beyond measure, if not beyond repair.

But Buffy was not the one who had damaged him.

The fear, the despair, the utterly lost look in her sister's eyes called out to her – and Dawn could not respond to it with the cold, angry words she had intended to say.

Slowly she reached out a hand to clasp Buffy's shaking, damp hand in hers – and the older sister looked back at her for a moment, startled, before turning her eyes back to the road.

Dawn gave her a soft, sad smile, as she squeezed her hand gently, and finished her sentence much differently than she had intended to. "It's going to be all right," she reassured her, though she had no way of knowing if her words were true. She hesitated a moment before adding tentatively, "I – I love you, Buffy."

Much to her surprise and dismay, Buffy's face suddenly crumpled as she visibly dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with the sobs that she had been struggling to hold back, for fear of appearing utterly selfish and insensitive. How could she give way to her own hurt and pain, when her mate's suffering was clearly so much greater?

And besides – she was driving.

Glancing around the car at the emotional deluge that surrounded her, clasping her sister's hand firmly in her own to offer her silent support, Dawn released a weary sigh and focused her eyes on the windshield in front of her.

After all – someone had to.

Maybe I should have driven, she thought dryly. At least that way we'd know we'd all make it home alive!

Across the desert, at a gradually increasing distance from the black DeSoto headed back to town, the bound, injured Watcher began to wake up. As he stirred to consciousness with a low moan of pain, he found suddenly that he could not move – and his eyes shot open in alarm, as he hurriedly looked around at his surroundings.

"Good evening, Mr. – Rodney Thoreau," a vaguely familiar voice spoke from behind him, and as the unconventional, disgraced Watcher stepped into his line of vision, he saw that he had been reading his name off of his ID – apparently taken from his pocket while he slept.

Ice blue eyes glinted wickedly in the moonlight, over a deceptively pleasant smile, as Rupert Giles asked in a polite, cultured voice, "I trust you slept well?"

"Untie me at once!" Thoreau demanded, struggling to sit up in the sand, but finding it difficult with his hands bound under him as they were. "See here, Mr. Giles – the Council will not put up with this! If you refuse to listen to reason, the moment they hear of this they'll be sending others to deal with you and your rogue Slayer!"

"Here," Giles said softly, reaching over to grab a handful of the man's hair, yanking him up sharply into the sitting position he sought, leaning him against the front of Travers car, behind him, smiling as the Watcher let out a yelp of pain at the action. "Better?"

Thoreau just glared at him resentfully. "I swear to you, Mr. Giles," he insisted. "If you don't end this charade at once, you and all those dear to you will regret it. The Council takes care of their own…"

"Do they now?" the ex-Watcher smirked, an ironic note to his voice. "Really, I hadn't noticed that, myself." His smile faded as he stalked slowly closer to the man, crouching down in front of him to meet his eyes coldly. "Actually – that was a bit of a concern of mine…rather why you're here, actually…"

He stood again and paced a few steps away from the man before turning to face him again. "I do find myself in a bit of a predicament, you see – because you are right about one thing – the Council will not let this rest. The moment they hear of this – they'll send another delegation – likely better armed and skilled than this one – to 'deal' with us, as you've said…"

He moved in closer again as he added in a low, deadly voice, "And I've absolutely no intention of allowing that to happen."

Thoreau's eyes widened as Giles took out one of the several discarded guns that had lain in the sand following the standoff between Travers and the Slayer, regarding it thoughtfully for a few moments before aiming it casually at the man in front of him.

"Have you a family, Mr. Thoreau?" he asked softly, his eyes narrowing speculatively on the man's face. His voice was chillingly casual and polite; the two of them might as easily have been discussing the weather, or a simple business matter.

The hesitation in his voice was all the indication the older man needed that he was lying, when Thoreau replied hurriedly, "Yes! I've several small children at home in England, Mr. Giles…think carefully about what you're about to…"

The sharp, unexpected blow across the face with the butt end of the pistol silenced his desperate attempt to reason with the man, before Giles went on, as if nothing had happened.

"Yes or no will suffice, Sir," he said in a mild voice that did not match his actions, his pleasant smile back in place. "I will say that I'm glad you are a family man as well, Mr. Thoreau," he went on, unable to keep the smirk from his face – because they both knew that Thoreau had no children.

"I have a family as well."

Giles' voice hardened on those words, his expression becoming serious. "I will admit, I'm a bit new to the business of family – I've spent a good deal of my life as a bachelor – still am…but I have learned this in the short time since I've – adopted this new family of mine…"

He crouched down close to the man again, pressing the gun to his temple without hesitation, eliciting a gasp of fear as Thoreau flinched away from him.

"I would do anything to protect them…I'm sure you understand what I'm talking about -- don't you, Mr. Thoreau?"

The Watcher swallowed hard, visibly trembling at the clear threat the older man was presenting. The mild-mannered older gentleman who had put up so little resistance earlier in the evening, who had seemed so easy to control and push around, had vanished -- leaving in his place this obviously dangerous, lethal person, of whom he had heard tales, but never had the misfortune to actually meet before.

In his younger days, before accepting his calling as a Watcher, Rupert Giles had been known by a different name.

Ripper.

There was no doubt in Thoreau's mind which person he was facing now.

He nodded his understanding of what Giles was saying, wanting at this point only to appease him.

"So -- unfortunately you will not have the opportunity to return to your family in England," Giles went on with a smirk at the misnomer. "I'd advise you to steer clear of the Council in general -- there are countless new identities you could devise, here in the United States...Mr. Travers has disappeared; he will not be heard from again. And it would truly be in your best interest to do the same."

"The Council will come looking for him..." Thoreau began in a shaky voice.

"No," Giles countered. "They won't. They will find on his desk at Council Headquarters, a signed document, sealed in an envelope with the orders to open it in the event that something should happen to him -- and that document will detail what should be done in the event that he does not return to England."

He considered for a moment, before smiling and adding, "It could be difficult for you to keep up the ruse, knowing what you do - which is why I advise you to cut your ties with the Council. At any rate -- should they ever figure it out, and come after my little family again," he assured him, a cold, sure menace in his voice,

"I will find those responsible -- and they will be the next to disappear. Do I make myself quite clear, Mr. Thoreau?"

As he spoke, he shifted the gun, pressing it against the man's throat, pressing his head back slightly.

With an audible gulp, Thoreau nodded hurriedly. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I understand..."

"Good," Giles nodded, satisfied. "There's a good lad." He stood up, moving the gun and replacing it in his pocket, before moving around to the driver's side door of the car and getting in.

"Hey! Wait! What are you doing?" Thoreau demanded, suddenly sounding panicked. "You can't just leave me here like this!"

Giles stopped, shaking his head and laughing softly as he turned back. "Silly me," he remarked quietly. "I nearly forgot." He leaned down and untied the man's ankles, pulling him to his feet.

Then, much to his surprise, he went back and got into the car, starting the engine and backing up away from the flabbergasted Watcher, his wrists still tied behind his back, his mouth open in shock.

"You'd best get started," Giles advised him out the open window of the car, as he pulled up beside him. "It's a long walk back to town."

And with those words, the ex-Watcher sped off across the desert, into the night.


	90. Chapter 90

By the time they reached the motel, and Buffy finally worked up enough nerve to turn around in the seat and face her mother and her mate – Spike had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

He had wept silently, but deeply, on Joyce's shoulder, until she had finally felt his sobs subsiding, and he had allowed more and more of his weight to rest upon her as he had begun to drift off, cradled gently in her arms, weary and utterly drained by the trauma he had endured.

She had scooted carefully down across the seat, lowering his body so that his head rested in her lap; and she had spent the rest of the ride just quietly sitting there, running her fingers gently, idly through his damp blonde curls.

Buffy's eyes welled with tears as she took in the sight of the vampire's tear-stained, pain-ravaged face, clearly not at peace, even in sleep. There were still faint traces of the bruises she had left there earlier in the evening, under the fresh ones dealt to him by Travers and his men – though the potent blood he had drawn from her had made most of his physical injuries mostly disappear.

If only that was the extent of the damage that had been done!

Buffy felt her mother's eyes on her, and raised her own to meet Joyce's calm, steady gaze. She steeled herself for anger and condemnation – and was surprised to find instead, tenderness and compassion. Joyce lifted the hand that was resting on the sleeping vampire's shoulder, to gently caress her daughter's cheek – and Buffy closed her eyes, swallowing back a sob of relief at the touch that spoke of acceptance…love…

Forgiveness.

"It's gonna be okay, Sweetie," Joyce assured her gently. "It's just gonna take some time. He's been traumatized, Buffy. He's gonna get past it, eventually – but you're going to have to let that happen on his terms."

Buffy opened her eyes as her mother removed her hand from her cheek, gazing into her serious eyes for a moment before casting a regretful look on Spike again.

"He hates me now," she whispered, her voice achingly sad and bereft.

God, there's got to be something I can do…

"No, Buffy – he loves you," Joyce softly corrected her. "That's why this is so confusing to him – why it hurts so much. She – she hurt him badly, Buffy…"

"Yeah," Buffy whispered, anger in her smoldering eyes as she remembered the things she had been forced to witness and carry out at the same time, while having no control over her own body. "And she wore my face – she used my hands to do it!"

At that very moment, Spike began to stir, gradually roused by their quiet voices, and he opened his eyes, blinking as his vision came into focus – on Buffy's angry face, less than a foot from his own.

He started violently, jerking back first against Joyce, his eyes wide with momentary panic – and Buffy reacted just as strongly to his reaction, scrambling back against the steering wheel, her hands upraised in a gesture that said clearly that she was backing off.

"I'm sorry!" she said hurriedly. "Spike, I'm sorry – it's okay…"

"It's okay," Joyce echoed gently, trying to calm the vampire as he quickly sat up, drawing back away from Buffy as far as possible across the seat. "Hey – Spike, it's okay…"

The vampire had just barely awakened, and in his half-asleep state had assumed the worst. He was now in full game face, a soft, rumbling growl sounding deep in his chest, as he stared at the Slayer with gradually fading fear, as disorientation gave way to reason – fading, as before his eyes the Slayer broke down in anguished tears.

She did not see through the tears that flooded her eyes, as Spike's features slowly shifted back to his human face, a look of concern and regret coming over his face as he realized how very upset she obviously was. Now that he was fully awake, it was obvious that she was no threat to him, not now – but the damage was already done.

"I'll – I'll just go. Get our stuff," Buffy whispered hurriedly, her voice shaking as she fumbled over her words, and to open the car door. She staggered out of the vehicle in her haste to just get away, one hand wiping away tears as she just tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and her mate, who was clearly still terrified of her, no matter how he tried to hide it.

"Slayer!" Spike called out anxiously, reaching for the door; and then, although she was already too far away to hear him, "Buffy!"

Joyce gently stopped him, reaching across him to place her hand on the handle before he could. "Spike – are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked softly. There was a soft frown of anxious concern on her face, as she searched his eyes for the incredible strength she knew he would need to have the conversation he seemed intent on having.

She found it there, mingled in with his resignation and determination to do whatever it took to reach his mate.

All traces of fear had faded away at the sight of her distress. No matter how hard this was for him, how terribly confusing, he knew that he could not let this thing go on the way it was right now. If he did, the distance between him and Buffy would continue to grow – until eventually, it was too great to span at all.

"No," he replied honestly. "I'm not – but I have to, Joyce. I can't let her be by herself – not in this state."

Joyce nodded slowly, understanding completely. "Go on. We're right here if you need us, Spike."

He got out of the car and made his way up the staircase to the second floor room that Joyce and Dawn had stayed it. All of their luggage had been in the one room, as the second room had only been required in the first place for the completion of the ritual.

The very thought sent a shudder down his s pine at the memory of all that had gone on in that room.

Still, he made himself go on, pushing open the door that the Slayer, in her distraught state of mind, had left standing partially open. Buffy was standing with her back to him, stuffing clothes into a suitcase on the bed – apparently completely unaware that he had entered the room.

"Not too bloody bright, Slayer," he commented quietly – and the startled expression on her face as she whirled around to face him confirmed his disturbing suspicion that she had not even known he was there. "Any vamp could sneak up on you in here – you in this shaken up condition – and have himself a real good day. A bloke'd count himself right lucky, catching a Slayer off her guard like this."

Buffy did not respond for a moment, taking in his casual stance, his cautious eyes that never quite made contact with hers, before she lowered her gaze to the bedspread beside her, trying to gain enough composure to respond.

Finally she spoke softly, "Maybe that'd be better. For everyone."

The words were barely over a whisper, but Spike heard them clearly – and they infuriated him.

He had been all set to offer her comfort, support, and at least a measure of verbal forgiveness – until he had heard her frighteningly desolate, despairing words. The sick fear he felt at the thought of losing her forever fueled his anger, and he reacted without considering the possible consequences.

As usual.

Without thought, he stalked across the room toward her, his eyes blazing as he snapped, "No, you bloody don't, Slayer! You do not get to do that!"

"Do what?" she asked defensively, raising her eyes to meet his, a frown of surprise on her face at his unexpectedly aggressive stance.

"The 'pity Buffy' party!" he replied angrily, then proceeded with mockery in his voice, " 'Oh, boo hoo, poor me – the latest in the never-ending line of nasties that seems to always find my friends and family happened to come about because I made a bloody mistake! Think I'll go throw myself off the nearest bridge so the next one that comes along can bloody well finish 'em all off!"

The scathing disgust in his voice made her flinch – but it also aroused her anger. She fought to keep it at bay, knowing that another dose of her vicious temper was the last thing Spike needed at the moment.

"I didn't say I was going to kill myself," she replied, her voice low and trembling, her downcast eyes flashing with rising anger and frustration.

"No, but you might as well," he shot back. When she looked up, stunned by his words, he went on, "Well, it's the truth! You're bloody well giving up now, Slayer, is that it? Things get bad – you make them get bad – so now you just wanna run away from it, and just accept defeat? That they're not gonna get any better?"

"I didn't say that!" Buffy snapped, her voice more forceful now, as she took a step toward him. If there was anything that aroused the fight in her, it was the suggestion that she would not fight – that she was too weak, or scared, or incapable, to fight back.

"You didn't have to!" Spike shot back, his tone still strong and aggressive – but there was no mistaking the flash of fear in his eyes at her unconscious advance toward him.

"What do you expect me to do?" Buffy demanded, her voice trembling with a combination of anger and unshed tears, as she backed up, taking the step she had gained back. "I know I messed up, okay? I know it! And it hurt you, and I'm sorry! But what am I supposed to do about it now?"

Her words might have sounded defensive and defiant, if not for the sheer desperation in her voice; she really wanted to know what she could do to fix what she had done.

The problem was – Spike had no bloody idea.

"You're afraid of me now – you hate me – and you're bound to me for the rest of your life," she pointed out, her voice flat and desolate. "How am I supposed to make this okay, when there's no way that you can possibly trust me now?"

"I – I don't hate you, Buffy," Spike argued, his voice softer now – and there was no missing the way he did not argue with her other assessments of his feelings.

Because they were correct.

She was silent for a moment, taking in the self-conscious downward shift in his gaze, the way he took a sudden step back, without realizing he had, as she moved cautiously nearer tohim.

"But you don't trust me," she concluded, her voice soft and sad. "You are afraid of me."

Spike opened his mouth, presumably to deny the truth of her words – but then closed it again, swallowing hard. With a weary sigh, he slowly shook his head.

"I don't," he admitted, his voice barely over a whisper. "I am."

The pain that shot through Buffy's heart at those words was almost a physical ache in her chest, and she choked back a sob as she looked away.

"I'm sorry, love – can't bloody well help it," Spike went on, his voice softer now with the vulnerability of his confession. "I know you didn't mean to – know it was beyond your control – but that doesn't…it doesn't change the fact that…." He shook his head, his voice trailing off, as he could no longer find the words.

They weren't really necessary, anyway; she knew what he meant.

"Spike," she said softly, pleadingly, without looking at him. "I'm sorry. I've said it before, and I know it doesn't mean very much – but I'm so sorry I did this to you. I – I love you – and I just want to make this right again – but – but I don't know how to make you believe me…"

The slight wince that passed across his face, the way he lowered his head to hide his expression of pain, told her that her words had touched him – but still, he could not even bring himself to look at her.

"I wish I could tell you, Slayer," he said quietly, taking another step back away from her. "I do – but – but I don't know how…I just know…it's gonna take time, Slayer…it's gonna…"

"Buffy."

"…just have to give this thing time to sort of…fade…"

"Spike," Buffy interrupted him again, her voice low and intent, as she moved forward to close the distance between them, without really thinking about what she was doing. She had no intention of further frightening him; she just wanted him to acknowledge her as other than the one who had tortured and abused him. "My name is Buffy…"

At her advance, the vampire took another hasty step backward, his fear obvious as he felt his back reach the wall already, in the very limited space the motel room allowed them. His voice trembled as he replied in a defensive voice, "I know what your soddin' name is, Slayer, that's not the issue here, now would you…"

"Then say it," Buffy challenged him, her voice rising in strength, as she moved forward again, standing directly in front of him, her eyes intent and piercing as they sought his averted eyes. "Say it, Spike. It's not 'Slayer' – my name is Buffy."

"I know that, Slayer, just back off!" Spike demanded in a shaking, angry voice, raising his hands as if to ward her off, still refusing to look at her as she edged nearer to him.

Buffy knew in a part of her mind that she should do as he had asked, and just back off. She had done too much of forcing her own way lately; that was the cause of all of this. But a new understanding was dawning within her, and the determined side of her personality that refused to let go in a fight, now refused to let go of the potential solution she thought she had found.

As he held up his trembling hands to push her back, she caught his wrists, holding them back and leaning in closer, preventing him from shutting her out any further.

"Spike," she said, her voice soft, even and unthreatening, as she tried to catch his gaze, her eyes wide and solemn. "Look at me."

"No…"

"Look at me!" she demanded, shaking him slightly in her frustration, as new tears welled in her eyes.

He finally complied, his own eyes shining with moisture that did not mask the resentment and anger in his gaze.

"You keep calling me Slayer…"

"You are the bloody Slayer!" he snapped, trying to jerk out of her restricting grasp, looking away again as he fought a wave of sick fear that rose up in him against his will at her touch.

She pushed him back forcefully against the wall, not hurting him, but effectively stopping his struggles, her penetrating emerald eyes relentlessly drawing his reluctant gaze back to her face. "Spike – I'm not her -- okay? Yes, I'm the Slayer – but I'm not her! I'm Buffy…"

Spike looked away again, swallowing hard, his jaw working with emotions that he was struggling to control, before he looked up at her again in furious defiance. He was becoming more convinced with every moment that this whole ordeal had taught her nothing – that for Buffy to understand how wrong her way of looking at things was, he was going to have to teach her.

And if that happened – one of them was going to end up hurt.

"Really? You're not?" he asked, biting off the words with bitter resentment, his eyes narrowed skeptically as they focused on hers.

Buffy froze, her eyes widening and her face paling with shock at his words, which struck her as hard as a physical blow. And in that moment, Spike seemed to remember his own strength. He was no longer chipped, no longer at the mercy and whim of this powerful woman, no matter what she seemed to think. He did not have to let her push him around and force him to accept her decisions, just because she thought she knew what was best for everyone concerned.

Suddenly, he brought his arms forward sharply, taking advantage of her stunned reaction to shove her back away from him hard, sending her stumbling a few steps away from him.

When she caught her balance, she looked up at him, shaking her head slightly, a look of hurt and confusion on her face.

"That's funny, Slayer," Spike went on, a strangely calm note settling into his voice that was, to Buffy, reminiscent of the vampire he had been before the chip, as a challenging, defiant smirk rose to his lips, "because you bloody well act just like her!"


	91. Chapter 91

"Oh, please! Like I've got so many issues that you can't even name them all!" Buffy scoffed, trying to sound dismissive and incredulous – though his words really did bother her. Then with a frown, as something else occurred to her, she added, "And like you'd know all about them if I did!"

"You forget, pet," Spike smiled softly, tapping a finger against his temple and nodding toward her. "I saw a lot up there when you were quite literally in my head." He hesitated for a moment before admitting quietly, "Still do."

Buffy's frown deepened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "Now that's just not fair! How come I can't see inside your head?"

Spike's smile faded, his expression becoming slightly uncertain, as he replied, "Because – because I haven't wanted you to. Not – not just yet."

"So – we can see each other's thoughts now, because of the claim – but – you're shutting me out?" Buffy could not keep the edge of hurt from her voice.

Spike was quiet for a long moment before replying matter-of-factly, without a trace of apology in his tone.

"That's – basically it."

"Oh." Buffy was silent for a long moment before she said softly, "I guess I deserve that."

Spike neither denied or agreed with her words.

"Can – I shut you out?" she asked tentatively after a moment, her voice tinged with insecurity, mingled with curiosity.

A slightly sad smile passed over the vampire's lips, as he replied, "You will be able to – once you get used to the claim, and how it works. Not that I can say it'd be a good idea," he pointed out, mild self-derision in his voice. "After all – if both of us turn into paranoid, stubborn, scared-to-death morons – we'll never get anything accomplished."

Buffy's expression softened at the sheepish duck of his head that accompanied his honest acknowledgement of the fear and insecurity that was causing him to hold her at arm's length. She knew that it would be a lot easier for them to work through this if he would actually open up to her – but she could hardly blame him for not wanting to just yet.

"You're not a moron," she informed him gently, reaching a hand out toward his face – then hesitating, and laying it instead on his arm.

Spike did not pull away from her, and after a moment, he laughed softly, as the implications of her statement hit him – the parts of his self-description that she had not denied to be true.

And then, in spite of her fears and troubled state of mind – Buffy laughed, too.

"I didn't quite mean it like…"

"I know, pet…"

"Look at us," Buffy pointed out, glancing down at her own hand on his arm, before smiling hopefully into his eyes. "This is progress, anyway – isn't it?"

"Well – you're not shoving me around and yelling in my face – and I'm not shying away from you like a scared rabbit and refusing to speak your name," Spike noted with a little sideways tilt of his head and a half-smirk. "So – yeah. I'd say – it's progress."

"So – while in in not-yelling mode," Buffy began slowly, caution in her tone. "How about you tell me all about all these 'issues' I supposedly have, Doctor Spike?"

The vampire's smile faded as he looked down, taking a deep breath before asking, "You're sure you wanna hear this?"

"Spike…"

"Right – okay, then," he relented, taking a moment to prepare his thoughts before looking up again to meet her eyes.

"Your problem – the one that really worries me," he explained slowly, "has more to do with Buffy the girl than Buffy the Slayer. You think you've gotta control everything and everyone…because if you don't…"

"…because if I don't," Buffy cut in, a bit defensively, "the world could end! They'll all end up hurt, or dead, or – or…"

"Or just gone," Spike finished for her, piercing blue eyes searching hers for the truth she was trying to avoid.

The slight flinch garnered by his words told him that his theory held more truth to it than Buffy wanted to admit.

"But – you don't think that's the Slayer in me? Wanting control? You know – I do have a calling to save the world!" She seemed surprised by his assessment of her motivations; and yet – not.

"Could be a bit of both," he conceded with a little half shrug. "But it seems to me you're as much worried about you losing them – as you are about saving the world. Sure – if you lose control in the wrong situation, the whole world and everyone in it – including the ones you hold dear – could quite literally all go to hell," he went on, his solemn eyes searching hers for her reaciton, as he concluded.

"But you're more afraid of the love – the people – that you'd lose – than anything else." His voice lowered as he asked softly, barely over a whisper, "Am I getting warm, love?"

Tears streaked Buffy's face, and she bit her lower lip, reluctant to admit what she was increasingly sure of – that Spike was right about her, completely. Yes, Buffy the Slayer seemed to have some control issues – and that seemed only natural, she thought, all things considered. Having the weight of the fate of the world on her shoulders all the time could do that to a person.

But Buffy knew that her own control issues were deeply rooted in things that had happened in her life long before she had become the Slayer.

As a young girl, in that awkward, painful period between when her parents realized that they no longer loved each other, and when they actually got up the nerve to do something about it, Buffy had always secretly believed that if she could have done something better – been smarter, prettier, more agreeable – her parents might have been able to find a way to stay together.

The young woman she had become had come to know better – to realize that nothing she could have done could have made her parents be happy together when they simply weren't -- but a part of her had still carried that nagging sense of guilt and failure around with her, everywhere she went from that point on.

And every relationship in her life since then had both been affected by it – and contributed to it.

Her failure to save her friends from the terror of Angelus, and to save Angel from hell – her failure to hold onto Angel the next year, when he had left her – her friends, constantly looking to her for leadership, guidance, protection – it had all left her with the sense that her life and death, daily decisions were on what rested the fate of the entire world…

And her own heart, as well.

The consequences of making the wrong decision could be the end of the world – or the loss of her world.

So she frantically tried to make the right decision – and if by some quirk of fate the decision happened to rest with someone else for a change – she simply did whatever she had to do to ensure that they made the right one – in her opinion.

"And – and that's the problem, Buffy," Spike went on, breaking into her thoughts with his soft, honest voice – and she was startled, but strangely not bothered, to know that he had taken that little trip down memory lane with her, in her mind. "It's not all up to you. You can't just – just force someone to do something – even for the greater good – even for their own good – and expect it to come out right, love."

The dubious look in her eyes told him that she was still having a hard time with the concept of surrendering control, ever, when so much rested on her power and her calling.

Spike looked down at his lap, taking in a deep breath as he prepared himself to speak again.

"Buffy," he whispered finally, with more vulnerability than before in his still certain voice. "I – I won't be a slave – at anybody's bloody beck and call, no control over my own life – again. I – I can't."

Buffy's eyes widened in alarm, and she shook her head rapidly, beginning in a troubled voice, "Spike – I would never…"

"Just – just let me say this – okay, Buffy?" he said softly, holding up a hand to silence her anxious protests, though he kept his eyes downcast.

It was obvious to Buffy that whatever he was about to say was very difficult for him to express – and suddenly, she felt a surge of grateful relief that, after all that had happened, he was actually willing to open up to her at all.

"What happened between us – the original claim – well, a one-sided mating claim might as well be a dominance claim. You had the power to make me do anything you wanted – to do anything you wanted to me – and there was nothing I could do about it."

He was silent for a moment, before going on, "I – I've been under a dominance claim before, Buffy. It – it wasn't bloody fun either, pet. It was just exactly like this claim was before we made it mutual, really -- without the lovely side order of orgasmic pleasure. At least – at least for the one being dominated. For – for the recipient of the claim, it's mostly – well – agony – and humiliation. You're – nothing but a plaything, at their disposal – at least…if your claimant is anything like mine was…"

The stark pain in her mate's voice, the unmistakable insinuations of his words, began to build into a slowly boiling rage, rising up within the Slayer. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set in anger and outrage, that such indignities had been inflicted on her mate – even before he was her mate. Mingled with it was the guilt, the regret, that he had felt those same things again, at the hands of her alter ego.

But it could not compare with the rage he felt radiating off of her – a blind fury at whatever vampire had dared to so violate Spike.

"I – I wanted to die," he went on softly, his eyes wide and focused on their joined hands, seemingly unaware of her rising anger. "I would have done -- anything to escape him – but – but I wasn't even permitted to off myself. So – I had to put up with the torture, the beatings – the – the violations – again and again – with no possible escape…"

He paused, his tone becoming thoughtful, even through the pain, as he amended, "But then…I'm not so sure I would have killed myself – even if I could have – if he'd have let me – because then…"

"Who was it?" Buffy interrupted, her voice dark and intense with her need to avenge her mate.

At the same moment, Spike finished his statement. "…Dru would have been alone with him – and she would have had to take it all…"

And in that instant, it dawned on Buffy with a shock, just who Spike's former claimant had been.

Spike looked up at her with surprise, as if he had been sure that she would have already known that much. "Angelus," he replied in a whisper.

"Angel," Buffy whispered at the same moment, her eyes wide with realization, even before Spike had spoken his answer.

"When he got his soul, and ran off and left us – he let the claim lapse. Dominance claims aren't like mating claims. Any one-sided claim, given enough time, will wear off – and his did," Spike went on, his words clear and even, cautious, as if struggling to maintain his balance, not to topple over the edge into the dark abyss of painful emotions swirling and seething beneath the tightrope of his words.

His expression darkened as he added, "But he wasted no time in renewing it – when you – when he came back. Of course, he thought I was crippled the whole time – would have probably gotten well a bloody lot sooner, too, if not for his -- attentions…" The bitter anger and shame in his voice was painful – and enraging – to Buffy's ears.

She wanted to kill Angel.

"Then, when he got shipped off to hell – his just reward if you ask me – and came back all soulful again, well – he never wanted to face up to what he'd done again, I suppose. Wanted nothing to do with me, of course. So he let the claim lapse again," Spike went on, his voice stronger now that he had passed the hardest part of the story. A bittersweet smile rose to his lips as he continued.

"And then -- you claimed me – and it doesn't matter now. He couldn't do it again if he wanted to, because…"

"The mating claim is more binding than any other claim," Buffy finished for him, remembering what he had told her before – the fact that had been the key to their victory over the Slayer.

"Now that it's mutual," Spike clarified, his eyes becoming seirous as they met hers again. "But -- before -- these past few days…" He paused, swallowing hard as he looked away again, his voice lowered to a near whisper when he went on, "I – I felt that way again, Buffy. That – helplessness, that – that pure terror – with no hope of escape…"

When he managed to look up at her again, his eyes were glistening with tears.

"I can't go back there again, Buffy. I can't," he whispered, searching her eyes for understanding.

"You won't!" Buffy insisted, momentarily pushing aside her fury at the vampire she had once thought was the love of her life, to focus on Spike's need. She leaned forward slightly, gently, cautiously reaching out to take his trembling hands in hers again. "You won't…I won't – won't ever try to control you again, Spike – I promise!"

Spike smiled through his tears, but there was a certain seriousness even in the smile. "Don't make a promise that you can't keep, love," he warned her softly, looking away, though he did not pull away from her – and that was something, at least, wasn't it?

"You'll always have the – the tendency – to want to be in control, Buffy," Spike reminded her. "It's – it's in your nature – and in your personality – a part of who you are, Buffy…"

"I can control it, Spike," Buffy insisted, her voice trembling but determined as she leaned in toward him, trying to catch his eye again. "I can – can learn to – to not have to be in control all the time. I can."

Spike was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel it, could see it in his expression, that he desperately wanted to believe it. Finally he replied in a soft, achingly vulnerable whisper.

"I – I love you, Buffy. And now – you're my mate. And I want you to be. I want to spend the rest of my existence with you. But – but I can't be your – your pet, or your – slave to order about and keep on a bloody leash. For this to work, you're going to have to accept that not all the decisions are yours to make – and you're going to have to trust me to make the decisions that are right for me – for us – sometimes."

He looked up at her, his eyes open and searching.

"I won't do anything to make you regret it, Buffy, I promise – but you can't keep me under your thumb, for fear of what I might do someday. You have to treat me – as your equal…"

The Slayer studied his expression for a long moment, her eyes soft and glistening with tears of affection, remorse – hope.

"I can do that, Spike. You are my equal." Her smile faded as she looked down, and went on softly, "When she was – in my body – doing those things – it was – it was hard for me, too, Spike. You have no idea what it's like to feel – so out of control, like a prisoner in your own body…and – and to have to just sit by and watch the things she did to you…"

Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, composing herself before going on, "I hated it, but there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. And – it was like – I got a – a glimpse -- of what I could be like – if I didn't have a conscious, or a sense of right and wrong, or…"

"If you were a vampire," Spike concluded quietly, his eyebrows raised as he considered that interesting scenario.

Buffy met his eyes again, startled by the comparison – but it was an accurate one. "Yes," she nodded. "If I was a vampire, I'd be given over to that side of me completely. I realized that – that darkness – that violence – is a part of me."

She was silent for a moment, before she added, "And it scares me."

"Rightly so," Spike said, without anger or judgment – simply an honest observation.

"But – I can change, Spike. If you can, I can. I know that. We've both – made some terrible mistakes in our lives – but – I think if we work at this – if we try – we can make this work, Spike. We can."

He was quiet, nodding slowly. He knew she was right – felt that they were on the edge of an important breakthrough – and yet – a part of him was still afraid.

Buffy's solemn eyes studied his expression with compassion and understanding; she understood his hesitance. The way things stood between them at the moment, actually, was much better than she had even hoped for at this point. She could not blame him for his lingering fears and uncertainties.

"I can't ask you to place your trust in me, Spike," she admitted softly. "Not yet. I know that. But – but you can trust me." She reached a tender hand up to cautiously rest against his cheek, feeling a wave of sorrow as he visibly resisted the urge to pull away from her touch.

But he did resist it.

As her thumb gently caressed his cheek, he closed his eyes, swallowing hard, before deliberately leaning into her touch – and Buffy realized in an instant that he had decided to open himself up to her again.

In the next instant, she felt a powerful wave of emotion engulf her – a deep yearning for connection, for the closeness that she now realized that Spike had longer for all his life, even before his turning – but never had fulfilled.

Until now.

Then, she felt the anguish, the sorrow, fear, and humilation that still filled his heart from the last few days. He longed to get past it, to move on, forgive and forget – but she could feel his frustration as well, because he just could not seem to do it – not yet.

Buffy allowed the tumult of intense feeling from her mate to wash over her, flowing around her, and finally ebbing away, before she closed her eyes, and focused on returning the sensation.

She allowed her own emotions – the confusion, the anger and frustration and utter violation of having her very body stolen from her control, to be revealed to her mate – showed him the depth of love she felt for him, her sorrow and remorse for what had happened between them, and her desire and commitment to do whatever it would take to help him find healing for the pain.

Finally, they each slowly opened their eyes, staring at the other with tears soaking their faces – and a new understanding in their eyes.

A slow, tender smile rose to Buffy's lips as she gazed into the vulnerable, expressive eyes of her mate.

"I love you, Spike," she whispered. "Thank you – for trusting me. I promise you – I'm never going to make you regret it."


	92. Chapter 92

"Oh, please! Like I've got so many issues that you can't even name them all!" Buffy scoffed, trying to sound dismissive and incredulous – though his words really did bother her. Then with a frown, as something else occurred to her, she added, "And like you'd know all about them if I did!"

"You forget, pet," Spike smiled softly, tapping a finger against his temple and nodding toward her. "I saw a lot up there when you were quite literally in my head." He hesitated for a moment before admitting quietly, "Still do."

Buffy's frown deepened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "Now that's just not fair! How come I can't see inside your head?"

Spike's smile faded, his expression becoming slightly uncertain, as he replied, "Because – because I haven't wanted you to. Not – not just yet."

"So – we can see each other's thoughts now, because of the claim – but – you're shutting me out?" Buffy could not keep the edge of hurt from her voice.

Spike was quiet for a long moment before replying matter-of-factly, without a trace of apology in his tone.

"That's – basically it."

"Oh." Buffy was silent for a long moment before she said softly, "I guess I deserve that."

Spike neither denied or agreed with her words.

"Can – I shut you out?" she asked tentatively after a moment, her voice tinged with insecurity, mingled with curiosity.

A slightly sad smile passed over the vampire's lips, as he replied, "You will be able to – once you get used to the claim, and how it works. Not that I can say it'd be a good idea," he pointed out, mild self-derision in his voice. "After all – if both of us turn into paranoid, stubborn, scared-to-death morons – we'll never get anything accomplished."

Buffy's expression softened at the sheepish duck of his head that accompanied his honest acknowledgement of the fear and insecurity that was causing him to hold her at arm's length. She knew that it would be a lot easier for them to work through this if he would actually open up to her – but she could hardly blame him for not wanting to just yet.

"You're not a moron," she informed him gently, reaching a hand out toward his face – then hesitating, and laying it instead on his arm.

Spike did not pull away from her, and after a moment, he laughed softly, as the implications of her statement hit him – the parts of his self-description that she had not denied to be true.

And then, in spite of her fears and troubled state of mind – Buffy laughed, too.

"I didn't quite mean it like…"

"I know, pet…"

"Look at us," Buffy pointed out, glancing down at her own hand on his arm, before smiling hopefully into his eyes. "This is progress, anyway – isn't it?"

"Well – you're not shoving me around and yelling in my face – and I'm not shying away from you like a scared rabbit and refusing to speak your name," Spike noted with a little sideways tilt of his head and a half-smirk. "So – yeah. I'd say – it's progress."

"So – while in in not-yelling mode," Buffy began slowly, caution in her tone. "How about you tell me all about all these 'issues' I supposedly have, Doctor Spike?"

The vampire's smile faded as he looked down, taking a deep breath before asking, "You're sure you wanna hear this?"

"Spike…"

"Right – okay, then," he relented, taking a moment to prepare his thoughts before looking up again to meet her eyes.

"Your problem – the one that really worries me," he explained slowly, "has more to do with Buffy the girl than Buffy the Slayer. You think you've gotta control everything and everyone…because if you don't…"

"…because if I don't," Buffy cut in, a bit defensively, "the world could end! They'll all end up hurt, or dead, or – or…"

"Or just gone," Spike finished for her, piercing blue eyes searching hers for the truth she was trying to avoid.

The slight flinch garnered by his words told him that his theory held more truth to it than Buffy wanted to admit.

"But – you don't think that's the Slayer in me? Wanting control? You know – I do have a calling to save the world!" She seemed surprised by his assessment of her motivations; and yet – not.

"Could be a bit of both," he conceded with a little half shrug. "But it seems to me you're as much worried about you losing them – as you are about saving the world. Sure – if you lose control in the wrong situation, the whole world and everyone in it – including the ones you hold dear – could quite literally all go to hell," he went on, his solemn eyes searching hers for her reaciton, as he concluded.

"But you're more afraid of the love – the people – that you'd lose – than anything else." His voice lowered as he asked softly, barely over a whisper, "Am I getting warm, love?"

Tears streaked Buffy's face, and she bit her lower lip, reluctant to admit what she was increasingly sure of – that Spike was right about her, completely. Yes, Buffy the Slayer seemed to have some control issues – and that seemed only natural, she thought, all things considered. Having the weight of the fate of the world on her shoulders all the time could do that to a person.

But Buffy knew that her own control issues were deeply rooted in things that had happened in her life long before she had become the Slayer.

As a young girl, in that awkward, painful period between when her parents realized that they no longer loved each other, and when they actually got up the nerve to do something about it, Buffy had always secretly believed that if she could have done something better – been smarter, prettier, more agreeable – her parents might have been able to find a way to stay together.

The young woman she had become had come to know better – to realize that nothing she could have done could have made her parents be happy together when they simply weren't -- but a part of her had still carried that nagging sense of guilt and failure around with her, everywhere she went from that point on.

And every relationship in her life since then had both been affected by it – and contributed to it.

Her failure to save her friends from the terror of Angelus, and to save Angel from hell – her failure to hold onto Angel the next year, when he had left her – her friends, constantly looking to her for leadership, guidance, protection – it had all left her with the sense that her life and death, daily decisions were on what rested the fate of the entire world…

And her own heart, as well.

The consequences of making the wrong decision could be the end of the world – or the loss of her world.

So she frantically tried to make the right decision – and if by some quirk of fate the decision happened to rest with someone else for a change – she simply did whatever she had to do to ensure that they made the right one – in her opinion.

"And – and that's the problem, Buffy," Spike went on, breaking into her thoughts with his soft, honest voice – and she was startled, but strangely not bothered, to know that he had taken that little trip down memory lane with her, in her mind. "It's not all up to you. You can't just – just force someone to do something – even for the greater good – even for their own good – and expect it to come out right, love."

The dubious look in her eyes told him that she was still having a hard time with the concept of surrendering control, ever, when so much rested on her power and her calling.

Spike looked down at his lap, taking in a deep breath as he prepared himself to speak again.

"Buffy," he whispered finally, with more vulnerability than before in his still certain voice. "I – I won't be a slave – at anybody's bloody beck and call, no control over my own life – again. I – I can't."

Buffy's eyes widened in alarm, and she shook her head rapidly, beginning in a troubled voice, "Spike – I would never…"

"Just – just let me say this – okay, Buffy?" he said softly, holding up a hand to silence her anxious protests, though he kept his eyes downcast.

It was obvious to Buffy that whatever he was about to say was very difficult for him to express – and suddenly, she felt a surge of grateful relief that, after all that had happened, he was actually willing to open up to her at all.

"What happened between us – the original claim – well, a one-sided mating claim might as well be a dominance claim. You had the power to make me do anything you wanted – to do anything you wanted to me – and there was nothing I could do about it."

He was silent for a moment, before going on, "I – I've been under a dominance claim before, Buffy. It – it wasn't bloody fun either, pet. It was just exactly like this claim was before we made it mutual, really -- without the lovely side order of orgasmic pleasure. At least – at least for the one being dominated. For – for the recipient of the claim, it's mostly – well – agony – and humiliation. You're – nothing but a plaything, at their disposal – at least…if your claimant is anything like mine was…"

The stark pain in her mate's voice, the unmistakable insinuations of his words, began to build into a slowly boiling rage, rising up within the Slayer. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set in anger and outrage, that such indignities had been inflicted on her mate – even before he was her mate. Mingled with it was the guilt, the regret, that he had felt those same things again, at the hands of her alter ego.

But it could not compare with the rage he felt radiating off of her – a blind fury at whatever vampire had dared to so violate Spike.

"I – I wanted to die," he went on softly, his eyes wide and focused on their joined hands, seemingly unaware of her rising anger. "I would have done -- anything to escape him – but – but I wasn't even permitted to off myself. So – I had to put up with the torture, the beatings – the – the violations – again and again – with no possible escape…"

He paused, his tone becoming thoughtful, even through the pain, as he amended, "But then…I'm not so sure I would have killed myself – even if I could have – if he'd have let me – because then…"

"Who was it?" Buffy interrupted, her voice dark and intense with her need to avenge her mate.

At the same moment, Spike finished his statement. "…Dru would have been alone with him – and she would have had to take it all…"

And in that instant, it dawned on Buffy with a shock, just who Spike's former claimant had been.

Spike looked up at her with surprise, as if he had been sure that she would have already known that much. "Angelus," he replied in a whisper.

"Angel," Buffy whispered at the same moment, her eyes wide with realization, even before Spike had spoken his answer.

"When he got his soul, and ran off and left us – he let the claim lapse. Dominance claims aren't like mating claims. Any one-sided claim, given enough time, will wear off – and his did," Spike went on, his words clear and even, cautious, as if struggling to maintain his balance, not to topple over the edge into the dark abyss of painful emotions swirling and seething beneath the tightrope of his words.

His expression darkened as he added, "But he wasted no time in renewing it – when you – when he came back. Of course, he thought I was crippled the whole time – would have probably gotten well a bloody lot sooner, too, if not for his -- attentions…" The bitter anger and shame in his voice was painful – and enraging – to Buffy's ears.

She wanted to kill Angel.

"Then, when he got shipped off to hell – his just reward if you ask me – and came back all soulful again, well – he never wanted to face up to what he'd done again, I suppose. Wanted nothing to do with me, of course. So he let the claim lapse again," Spike went on, his voice stronger now that he had passed the hardest part of the story. A bittersweet smile rose to his lips as he continued.

"And then -- you claimed me – and it doesn't matter now. He couldn't do it again if he wanted to, because…"

"The mating claim is more binding than any other claim," Buffy finished for him, remembering what he had told her before – the fact that had been the key to their victory over the Slayer.

"Now that it's mutual," Spike clarified, his eyes becoming seirous as they met hers again. "But -- before -- these past few days…" He paused, swallowing hard as he looked away again, his voice lowered to a near whisper when he went on, "I – I felt that way again, Buffy. That – helplessness, that – that pure terror – with no hope of escape…"

When he managed to look up at her again, his eyes were glistening with tears.

"I can't go back there again, Buffy. I can't," he whispered, searching her eyes for understanding.

"You won't!" Buffy insisted, momentarily pushing aside her fury at the vampire she had once thought was the love of her life, to focus on Spike's need. She leaned forward slightly, gently, cautiously reaching out to take his trembling hands in hers again. "You won't…I won't – won't ever try to control you again, Spike – I promise!"

Spike smiled through his tears, but there was a certain seriousness even in the smile. "Don't make a promise that you can't keep, love," he warned her softly, looking away, though he did not pull away from her – and that was something, at least, wasn't it?

"You'll always have the – the tendency – to want to be in control, Buffy," Spike reminded her. "It's – it's in your nature – and in your personality – a part of who you are, Buffy…"

"I can control it, Spike," Buffy insisted, her voice trembling but determined as she leaned in toward him, trying to catch his eye again. "I can – can learn to – to not have to be in control all the time. I can."

Spike was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel it, could see it in his expression, that he desperately wanted to believe it. Finally he replied in a soft, achingly vulnerable whisper.

"I – I love you, Buffy. And now – you're my mate. And I want you to be. I want to spend the rest of my existence with you. But – but I can't be your – your pet, or your – slave to order about and keep on a bloody leash. For this to work, you're going to have to accept that not all the decisions are yours to make – and you're going to have to trust me to make the decisions that are right for me – for us – sometimes."

He looked up at her, his eyes open and searching.

"I won't do anything to make you regret it, Buffy, I promise – but you can't keep me under your thumb, for fear of what I might do someday. You have to treat me – as your equal…"

The Slayer studied his expression for a long moment, her eyes soft and glistening with tears of affection, remorse – hope.

"I can do that, Spike. You are my equal." Her smile faded as she looked down, and went on softly, "When she was – in my body – doing those things – it was – it was hard for me, too, Spike. You have no idea what it's like to feel – so out of control, like a prisoner in your own body…and – and to have to just sit by and watch the things she did to you…"

Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, composing herself before going on, "I hated it, but there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. And – it was like – I got a – a glimpse -- of what I could be like – if I didn't have a conscious, or a sense of right and wrong, or…"

"If you were a vampire," Spike concluded quietly, his eyebrows raised as he considered that interesting scenario.

Buffy met his eyes again, startled by the comparison – but it was an accurate one. "Yes," she nodded. "If I was a vampire, I'd be given over to that side of me completely. I realized that – that darkness – that violence – is a part of me."

She was silent for a moment, before she added, "And it scares me."

"Rightly so," Spike said, without anger or judgment – simply an honest observation.

"But – I can change, Spike. If you can, I can. I know that. We've both – made some terrible mistakes in our lives – but – I think if we work at this – if we try – we can make this work, Spike. We can."

He was quiet, nodding slowly. He knew she was right – felt that they were on the edge of an important breakthrough – and yet – a part of him was still afraid.

Buffy's solemn eyes studied his expression with compassion and understanding; she understood his hesitance. The way things stood between them at the moment, actually, was much better than she had even hoped for at this point. She could not blame him for his lingering fears and uncertainties.

"I can't ask you to place your trust in me, Spike," she admitted softly. "Not yet. I know that. But – but you can trust me." She reached a tender hand up to cautiously rest against his cheek, feeling a wave of sorrow as he visibly resisted the urge to pull away from her touch.

But he did resist it.

As her thumb gently caressed his cheek, he closed his eyes, swallowing hard, before deliberately leaning into her touch – and Buffy realized in an instant that he had decided to open himself up to her again.

In the next instant, she felt a powerful wave of emotion engulf her – a deep yearning for connection, for the closeness that she now realized that Spike had longer for all his life, even before his turning – but never had fulfilled.

Until now.

Then, she felt the anguish, the sorrow, fear, and humilation that still filled his heart from the last few days. He longed to get past it, to move on, forgive and forget – but she could feel his frustration as well, because he just could not seem to do it – not yet.

Buffy allowed the tumult of intense feeling from her mate to wash over her, flowing around her, and finally ebbing away, before she closed her eyes, and focused on returning the sensation.

She allowed her own emotions – the confusion, the anger and frustration and utter violation of having her very body stolen from her control, to be revealed to her mate – showed him the depth of love she felt for him, her sorrow and remorse for what had happened between them, and her desire and commitment to do whatever it would take to help him find healing for the pain.

Finally, they each slowly opened their eyes, staring at the other with tears soaking their faces – and a new understanding in their eyes.

A slow, tender smile rose to Buffy's lips as she gazed into the vulnerable, expressive eyes of her mate.

"I love you, Spike," she whispered. "Thank you – for trusting me. I promise you – I'm never going to make you regret it."


	93. Chapter 93

The atmosphere between the two blondes had dramatically changed by the time Buffy and Spike finally returned to the car. Joyce breathed a sigh of relief when they came into sight, at the visibly more relaxed posture of both of them, their surprisingly joined hands between them – and, well, just at the fact that they were coming back at all.

She had been just starting to get really and truly scared for the safety of both her daughter, and the vampire that she regarded as a surrogate son.

As they reached the car and Spike quietly opened the door next to Joyce, she noticed that while they still seemed a bit solemn and more subdued than usual, they were both much calmer, and the pain that had been so stark and unmistakable in their eyes seemed to have faded at least to a level that was bearable.

She felt a wave of relief wash over her.

It was far from over – but the healing had begun.

"Joyce – would you like to drive for a while?" Spike asked her softly, giving her a warm, reassuring smile, meeting her eyes to silently tell her that it was really what he wanted her to do.

Joyce glanced between her daughter and her mate, trying to read their expressions – and then quickly suppressed her urge to ask if he was sure, if he really thought it was the best idea. After all, the last time she had asked that, worried about the outcome of what she viewed as rash, dangerous actions – his instincts had obviously been better than hers.

She had no way of knowing just what had transpired between them in that motel room – but it seemed to have been a positive step, whatever it was.

She would trust Spike's judgment on this one.

"Okay," she agreed without argument, getting out of the car and going around to the driver's side door, as Spike and Buffy climbed into the backseat – together.

"So – should we call your friends and tell them to go ahead and come home from L.A.?" she asked, her tone mild and conversational, glancing at Buffy in the rearview mirror as she put the car in drive and pulled out onto the highway.

Buffy opened her mouth to respond in the affirmative – and then stopped, her eyes narrowing over an expression that reminded Spike briefly of a look he had seen on the her face when it had been ruled by the Slayer demon – and the vampire was infinitely grateful that this time, it was not directed at him.

"Um – actually – how far are we from L.A right now?" Buffy asked, her tone deceptively calm, the light of an idea forming in her eyes.

"An hour or two, honey – why?" Joyce frowned.

"Let's go tell them in person. There's a lot of things I need to – to get off my chest."

Spike had to suppress a smirk, despite his misgivings, at the fury he saw in his mate's eyes, felt radiating off of her. The things he had told her in that motel room were not going to be easily forgotten. He knew well the defensive, protective rage that he could sense coursing through her, directed at his sire.

It was the same feeling he had felt – just before he had killed Quentin Travers.

"And – they can't wait until we get home?" Joyce asked, wearily. She could tell by Buffy's expression that her daughter had a definite reason for wanting to go to L.A. – but in all honesty…she was just ready to get home.

"The person I need to talk to won't be at home," Buffy clarified – though it really did not make things very much clearer to her mother, who still had no idea what she was planning.

Still, the look on her daughter's face gave Joyce the idea that whatever her reasons were, it was very important to Buffy to go to L.A. before they went home – and she decided not to push the issue.

After all she had been through tonight, Joyce would go along with whatever Buffy felt the need to do.

"Okay, honey," she agreed. "We'll go there first. It's nearly dawn. We should be there by about – oh – 7:00ish? And that reminds me, Spike? You'd better go ahead and put the covers back on the windows before the sun comes up."

"Yes, Mum," Spike teased her – but he did reach down to the floorboard to pick up the sheets of tinfoil covered cardboard that he usually stuck in the back windows to keep the sun from coming in, obediently replacing them in the windows, as the grey light of early morning began to light the sky.

As he did, he thought about what his mate was planning, wondering how far she intended to take things, what exactly she wanted to do – and if it was a good idea at all.

"He'll still be asleep, pet," he pointed out softly as he finished his task, turning toward Buffy and squeezing her hand gently in an effort to calm her obviously still seething anger. "Creature of the night and all that."

Buffy turned to meet his eyes, a cold smile on her face that sent a chill down his spine, although he knew her anger was not aimed at him. "Do I look like I care if I disturb his rest?" she asked with a dangerous gleam in her sparkling emerald eyes.

Spike smiled, but his own eyes were serious, uncertain.

'M just -- not so sure this is the best idea, pet… he confessed softly in her mind, wanting to keep the conversation private, away from the hearing of her mother and sister, who still had absolutely no idea of exactly what was going on.

Buffy's fiery green eyes sought his, saying more with a look than with her words – full of an anguished pain and outrage at the things that he had suffered, and not only at her own hands.

I have to do this, Spike…I hate him for what he did to you, and I hate that he walks around acting so self-righteous, like you're so evil and he's so good, after all that he's…

Buffy's mental voice trailed off, and she shook her head, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes again and going on.

I know it was years ago…I know you'd probably already dealt with it, and wouldn't be dealing with it again like you are now, if not for what I've just done…but it's kinda difficult to beat the crap out of myself…and when there's someone else who deserves it just as much – it's just too tempting to pass up, she said, a smirk that was only half-joking coming across her face with the words. I've just got to get this out of my system…okay?

Spike sighed softly, unable to keep back a soft chuckle at her reasoning, before replying, Whatever you have to do, love…it's all right with me. I can't say I won't enjoy the look on his face when you come strolling in to his place…all fire and fury…

From the moment when Buffy had first mentioned going to L.A., he had felt more than a little uncomfortable with the idea. After all, Angel had a soul now, and Spike was Buffy's mate – not to mention the fact that he was no longer a weak, inexperienced fledgling – so there was no reason to be afraid of his sire, not anymore.

And Buffy was right; he had long ago made a sort of peace with his past, with the torments he had been through to become who he was today -- and the thought of unearthing long buried hurts and shameful memories was definitely not a pleasant one. His instinctive reaction was to ask that Buffy not do what she so clearly wanted to do – that she just let it go and let them all go home.

But the look in her eyes promised pain and humiliation for the dark, soulful vampire – and Spike knew, better than most, that he had had it coming for a long time. Suddenly, the idea of the furious, powerful Slayer going damage bound on his poncy, self-righteous sire was incredibly appealing. A slow smile rose to his lips, as he relaxed back against the seat to enjoy the rest of the trip.

Who knows, mate? he thought to himself with a smirk. This could be a bit of fun.

"Angel Investigation, we help the hopeless…"

"Um…that's nice…who's this?" Buffy frowned into the receiver at the familiar voice that sounded like….but just couldn't be…

"…I was going to say, 'This is Cordelia, can I help you?" the smug female voice continued pointedly on the other line, clearly miffed by the interruption.

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise. "C - cordelia! What are you doing there?"

There was a moment's silence before Cordelia replied, her voice cooler now, and Buffy could almost see the imperious "Queen Cordy" expression on her face as she said slowly, "Well why don't you tell me who you are, and I'll determine whether or not you need to know that?"

"This is Buffy Summers, Cordy," the Slayer informed her, exasperated. "And never mind. I don't need to know. Is Angel around?"

"Well, actually, he's a little bit busy at the moment…"

"Trust me, Cordy – he really wants to take this call," Buffy declared, her eyes rolling over a cold smile of anticipation.

"Oh, right!" Cordy retorted, indignation clear in her tone. "Like it doesn't matter what he happens to be doing at the moment – like he's just gonna hear the name 'Buffy' and drop everything and come running to the -- ooomfff -- Angel! – oww! Hey – rude much?"

The last part of Cordy's words sounded muffled and distant, as she was no longer speaking into the receiver. Angel had been standing somewhere within hearing distance, apparently, and had done just as Cordy had been so sure he would not, and rushed to the phone upon hearing Buffy's name – obviously not taking very much care with his manners in the process of getting the phone from Cordelia.

Buffy wanted nothing more to do with Angel beyond the near-future kicking of his undead butt; still, she could not help the satisfied grin that rose to her lips at his obvious desperation to talk to her.

It would make her utter rejection and scathing disgust with him later, all the more crushing – er -- effective.

"Buffy? Are you okay?" he asked anxiously into the phone after a moment.

Buffy rolled her eyes, eliciting a grin to match her own from the blonde vampire beside her, close enough that with his enhanced vampire hearing, he could hear every word being said on both sides of the conversation.

Buffy replied sweetly into the phone, "Yes – finally. Thank you for asking. We managed to beat the Big Bad. Again. How are my friends doing?"

"Fine, Buffy – they're sleeping. So – what was it? End of the world again? Your friends wouldn't tell me." The irritation was clear in his voice at the insignificant mortals' disregard for his clear right to know about everything that went on in Buffy's life.

Good, she thought with vindictive pleasure. You walk out on me – you don't deserve to know what goes on in my life!

"Could have been," Buffy acknowledged with a nod, not bothering to mention to the dark vampire that her friends' silence had been at her request. She glanced to the side at her mate, and her expression sobered a bit. She squeezed his hand gently as she added in a softer tone, "Almost was."

"Sounds bad, Buffy…you should have told me what was going on. I would've come right down there to help you. But – I wasn't sure if you – if you wanted…."

"It's okay, Angel," she cut him off in that same sugary sweet voice. "I didn't." She barely gave him time to register that blunt comment, which could have been taken in a non-hurtful way – not that she intended it to be – before she went on, "But I'd really like to tell you all about it in person. Can you – can you meet me somewhere?"

She put just the right note of "vulnerable damsel in distress" in her voice to ensure that Angel would come running.

"Why don't you just come here?" he suggested, puzzled a bit by her request. "It's sunrise, Buffy. I can't go outside until dark."

Buffy's lips formed a flawless pout as she resigned herself to allowing Angel the "home court" advantage that she had intended to leave him without.

"Okay," she agreed. "But – I'd really like to talk to you alone, Angel…will that be a problem?"

"No, not at all," he quickly replied. "Hey, Cordy? Can you…?"

The ex-cheerleader's shocked sound of disbelief was clearly audible to Buffy over the phone. "You're asking me to leave? Angel – are you even sure she's not still evil? Xander told me she was evil!" Then after a pointed pause, Cordy added, softer, "Oops."

"No, of course she's not…you were evil?" The question, and Angel's attention, was turned back to Buffy. "You're not still evil – are you?"

"Yeah, I was – pretty dangerous for a while there – it was a whole big thing. But I'm back to being just plain old Buffy now, honest," the Slayer reassured him, her words deceptive, without being an actual lie.

"So – you're not, anymore…dangerous…right?" Angel clarified, his tone suddenly more serious.

Buffy cringed slightly, wondering if she was giving something away without meaning to.

"Not at all, Angel, see you in a bit," she hurriedly replied, shutting the phone before either Angel or Cordy could come up with any more questions or protests. Staring at the phone in her hand for a moment, Buffy replied with a darkened expression, "Not at all. Only to you – lover."

The soft growl beside her reminded her that others in the car might not be aware of the meaning behind her choice of words – the memories flooding her mind of a time in her life that had been unbelievably painful for her, and so much more so for Spike, though she had not known it at the time.

She gave her mate a reassuring smile, that barely served to soften the warning look on his face, edging nearer to him as she squeezed his hand again.

"Don't worry, Honey," she insisted matter-of-factly, leaning her head back on his shoulder. "I'm just being poetically ironical. Or – ironically poetic – oh, never mind. I just meant to say – Angel's going down!"


	94. Chapter 94

The hour and a half or so that it took to get to the L.A. address that Angel had given them gave the Slayer a little time to cool down a bit. By the time Joyce parked the car in front of the dilapidated old building, she was beginning to think more reasonably than she had only moments after hearing about the horrors Angelus had inflicted on Spike.

But her mind was still troubled, and she knew that Spike would still be dealing with the resurrected pain of Angelus' torments, brought freshly to his mind by the abuses of her own alter-ego over the past few days – abuses that she knew now, if not voluntary on her part, were still her own responsibility.

Just like Angel, no matter how hard he might try to pretend otherwise, was still responsible for the crimes of Angelus.

Because Angel was Angelus.

After all she had seen and experienced in the past few days – Buffy saw that now, more clearly than ever.

And she knew now what she had to do.

"Buffy! Hi!" Angel greeted her warmly at the door to the old, run down building he was currently living in and working out of. "Come in!" He held out his arms as if to embrace her, but she smoothly slid past him into the building, glancing around the dimly lit room, empty except for herself and the dark-haired vampire.

There was no sign of Cordelia, or anyone else for that matter. She assumed that her friends were sleeping behind one of several closed doors that branched off the main room, but that remained to be seen. And besides, that was of no importance to her at the moment.

She really preferred that her friends slept through this.

"Hey," she said flatly, before going back to the door and waving the other occupants of the DeSoto inside.

Angel was more than a little confused by her behavior, and finally looked past her at the vehicle she had just arrived in. When his eyes fell on the familiar black DeSoto, they narrowed in suspicion.

"Um, Buffy – that car – isn't that…"

But before he could finish the thought, in a rush of black leather an platinum hair, a very familiar figure rushed out of the car, through the faint early morning sunlight, and through the door that the Slayer had cleared and was holding open for his entry. He was followed, at a much more leisurely pace, by Buffy's mother and sister.

Angel's eyes widened in angry disbelief at the sight of his errant childe. "Spike?" he growled menacingly, before glaring at Buffy and demanding, "What is he doing here?"

Buffy just smiled coolly, unbothered by Angel's outburst. "He's with me," she informed him pointedly. "Leave him alone."

Angel just stood there for a moment, looking between the two of them in utter shock as he tried to process what she was telling him, before recovering his composure enough to grind out between gritted teeth, "When you say 'with you'…I'm hoping that you mean that in the sense…"

"I mean that in every sense," Buffy cut him off with her emphatic declaration, her flashing emerald eyes challenging him to question her decision. "So you might want to be very careful what you say from this point on, Angel."

There was hard, cold steel underlying her words, and it made her former lover think twice about uttering the scathing comments that rose to his lips.

"Buffy – what is going on here?" he demanded instead, accusation clear in his carefully calm voice, as his murderous gaze found its way once again to the blonde vampire who stood proudly by her side.

"Mom," Buffy addressed her mother, rather than answering Angel immediately, though her eyes never left his face, "Why don't you and Dawnie go find Xander, Willow, and Anya? Make sure they're up and ready to go?" She paused, smiling sweetly at her mother as she added, "I'll only be a few minutes."

Joyce did not miss her daughter's tone. She knew that for some reason, Buffy was planning to do or say something to Angel that she did not want her little sister to witness.

And if Buffy was concerned about the possibility of Dawn seeing it – then Joyce certainly didn't want her to see it, either.

She ushered her protesting younger daughter away from the scene of rising tension, deeper into the building to seek out Buffy's unsuspecting friends. Buffy watched their retreat long enough to be sure that her mother and sister really were out of sight and hearing, before turning back to face Angel, her arms crossed over her chest and an inscrutably cold expression on her face.

"Buffy?" Angel persisted, a flash of fear in his eyes at the look he saw in hers. There was no trace of the vulnerable teenager he had once known her to be; at the moment, she appeared to be pure Slayer. "You are still evil – aren't you?" he accused her, his voice betraying just the slightest tremor at the thought. "Here to take me out, because I'm the Powers' champion, is that it?"

"No. I'm not still evil," Buffy assured him flatly, shaking her head with a calm smile. "Been there, done that – didn't much care for the part where I tried to kill everyone I loved. No – I'm me, Angel. Just – with my eyes open." She paused, rolling her eyes as his words sank in completely, before adding, "But could you be any more arrogant and self-important?"

"I – I don't understand, Buffy," Angel replied uncertainly, his anger fading, rivaled by his confusion.

"Let me spell it out for you, Peaches," Spike smirked at his sire, the light of triumph in his crystal blue eyes. "She loves me now. She's mine, in every way you could think of – and she's bloody well through with you – after she's done beating you into a bloody pulp, that is…"

Angel's eyes narrowed in fury and he lunged toward the younger vampire with a possessive snarl. "Buffy's mine!" he growled. "Don't you dare touch…"

His words were cut off in an instant with a sharp blow from the Slayer's fist that took him by surprise, driving him a few feet back, away from his intended target. He looked up at her in startled disbelief that she had actually struck him, his dark eyes wide with hurt and betrayal.

"Buffy – how can you…"

"No," she cut him off sharply, moving between him and Spike, her eyes narrowed in determination. "Listen very carefully to what I'm about to say to you, Angel. Because I'm only going to say it once." Buffy paused, taking a deep breath and composing her thoughts, before she launched into as much of an explanation as she intended to give her former lover.

"Spike is off limits to you now, Angel. Don't even think you're gonna get away with trying to hurt him. And I am not yours – never have been, really – and never will be…"

"Buffy, have you completely lost your mind?" Angel interrupted her, aghast at her words, stunningly harsh, as far as he was concerned. He edged slowly nearer to her – and to Spike – again as he went on, "He's evil. He's nothing but an evil, soulless…"

"…vampire, yes, I know," Buffy finished impatiently for him, rolling her eyes. "But – here's what I've been thinking, Angel. And correct me if I'm wrong – but I've got this little theory. That 'evil, soulless vampire' just risked his own life and well being to protect my family -- from me -- knowing that I could very well kill him for doing it – or worse, if I felt like it."

Her matter-of-fact voice that trembled slightly with the painful guilt of the past few days made Angel wonder suddenly what Buffy could possibly be capable of that could be worse than death to the blonde vampire she was now defending – and then decided, at the look in her eyes, that he'd really rather not know.

Traumatized, he thought suddenly, in near desperation. Something obviously took her over – and she's been traumatized, by whatever she's been through these past few days. She's not thinking clearly…

"Buffy – I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you deal with – whatever it was," he began slowly, his voice carefully calm, as if he was speaking to a very unstable person – which he actually was beginning to believe might be the case.

"I'm sorry that you thought you had to turn to Spike of all people to help you – but I'm telling you, Buffy – you can't trust him. I know him better than anyone probably, and I know he has to have some ulterior motive for helping you. You have to see that he can't be trusted!" Angel's voice was almost pleading.

"Oh, I wouldn't have so much faith in my judgment, Angel," Buffy shot back with bitter sarcasm. "After all – I trusted you, didn't I?"

"Buffy," Angel gasped, stunned by her frank, harsh words. "That's – that's not fair. That wasn't my fault…"

"It is, and it was," Buffy countered softly, her expression becoming serious, and a little sad for a moment, under the anger so clear on her face. "I can see that now. Spike loves me, and he's risked his life to prove it a dozen times in the past few days." She paused, her shining emerald eyes searching his in a quiet challenge.

"I seem to recall another soulless vampire who couldn't even conceive of that kind of sacrifice."

The words took him off guard, an unexpected emotional sucker punch that left him stunned – and utterly unable to come up with a decent defense. His old fallback reasoning did not seem to fit, after her words about Spike's behavior.

"Buffy – I didn't have a soul then…"

"Did you not hear a single word I just said?" Buffy demanded incredulously, though her voice was still calm. Her eyes were cold and unyielding as she pointed out softly, "Neither does Spike. Doesn't keep him from loving me."

"He doesn't love you, Buffy," Angel insisted, his tone hardening as he glared past her at his gloating childe – whose grin immediately faded at the accusation. "He can't…"

"Oh, but he really can – and he does," Spike broke in, his voice calm, but his eyes narrowed and blazing with outrage at his sire's disparaging words. "You don't know the first thing about real love, Angelus…"

"Shut up, Spike!" Angel snapped with vicious hatred in his voice, taking a threatening step in the younger vampire's direction. "This is between me and Buffy! It's none of your business!"

If he had thought that the look he was employing could still intimidate his childe into backing down – he thought wrong.

"Oh, isn't it?" Spike challenged, moving forward himself in reaction to Angel's incensing words.

And Buffy slid discreetly to the side, allowing him to face his sire. She knew that now, without a dominance claim in place, Angel was really no threat to Spike's safety – and this was more his confrontation to have than it was hers, anyway.

He needed to do this.

"None of my business, is it?" he repeated in a tone of triumph. "Don't see how that's bloody possible, considering the fact that she's my mate!"

"After what you did the last time I saw you, I ought to…"

Angel's angry words broke off suddenly as the words that Spike had just spoken finally registered with him.

Still – he couldn't make himself process it – didn't want to believe that it could be true.

"What?" he said in a low, breathless voice of disbelief, his eyes wide and stricken with shock. "Now that she's…"

"My -- mate -- mate," Spike smirked as he stepped back slightly, just to wrap his arm around Buffy's shoulders in a casually possessive, affectionate gesture that was intended solely to further infuriate the other vampire. "As in eternally blood bound – unbreakable union – unchanging, forever mate!"

"No," Angel whispered, shaking his head in pained disbelief. "No – no, Buffy…" His eyes focused on her suddenly in an expression akin to panic. "Buffy…what have you done?"

"It's done now, Angel," Buffy reminded him in a quiet, certain voice that brooked no argument. She did not feel like going into all the details and particulars that had brought the two of them to be mated, admittedly a bit sooner than she would have chosen. She did not owe Angel an explanation.

"And I'm glad it's done," she finished after a moment, her intent gaze daring him to question her decision.

Angel just kept shaking his head, not willing to accept what he was hearing. "Buffy – something's wrong about this. You're – you're not yourself! He's done something to you…" Turning his furious glare on Spike, he stepped toward him again, his features shifting as he demanded with a snarl, "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing she didn't ask for," Spike sneered, his tongue curled suggestively behind his teeth, his eyes lighting up with amusement as Angel snarled in rage, lunging for him and grabbing him by his shirt, shaking him menacingly.

"I said what did you do to her, boy!" Angel demanded, his voice low and thunderous and filled with murderous intent, a low growl audible under his breath, even when he had stopped speaking.

Spike could not remember the last time he had seen Angel resemble Angelus so clearly.

And he was not the least bit intimidated.

Before Buffy could act on her immediate impulse to rush to his defense, Spike had thrown the older vampire back off of him with surprising strength, considering all that he had already been through in the past forty-eight hours, with very little rest.

"Get off me!" he snarled back, his own game face showing now. "You've got no bloody right to touch me, you soddin' wanker! You think you can just put your bloody hands on me as you like? Don't you ever touch me!"

"Oh, I can, Spike!" Angel sneered, something dark and ugly showing in his expression as he stalked back toward his childe. His hurt and anger at having what he believed to be solely his – even if he had chosen to leave her, for her own good of course -- suddenly, unexpectedly ripped away from him, with no chance of return, awakened a rage deep within him that he had managed to keep buried for nearly a century – with only a slight lapse, a few years earlier. "I can -- and I will!"

Swiftly he closed the distance between him and Spike, intent on reminding him of who was the sire and who was the childe in this little scenario.

Buffy fought with everything in her not to interfere, as the two powerful creatures came together in an instant, in an intense clash of fists and fangs in the center of the room. She forced herself to take a deliberate step back, away from the conflict, instead of entering it like she desperately wanted to. The bond she shared with Spike made her naturally feel the need to come to his aid, to help him.

But it was clearer to her now than it ever had been – clearer than it had become to her, in the car on the way here – this was Spike's fight…not her own.

Yes, Buffy had her own issues with Angelus – but had to admit that what she had experienced at his hands was nothing in comparison to the abuses Spike had suffered. And over the past few days, Spike had had the confidence, the strength that he had gradually managed to take back following his years as Angelus' whipping boy, suddenly stripped away again.

He deserved the chance to take it back.

In defense of his mate – in defense of the helpless childe that he had once been – there was no other way.

Spike had to do this himself.


	95. Chapter 95

The two master vampires grappled for control of the conflict, in the center of the room, while the Slayer did her best to simply stand back and watch – though she knew that if it looked for even a moment like Spike was in any real danger, she would have no choice but to step in.

Angel's safety was a non-issue to her, at the moment.

Besides, she could feel what her mate was thinking and feeling, and she knew that Spike had no intention of actually killing his sire. Despite the painful history he had with Angelus, despite the mating claim with her that had considerably weakened his bond with his sire – Spike still would not have actually killed Angel, unless he had no other choice. To kill one's own sire was a crime that few vampires would venture to attempt – and for Spike, this was not so much about his opponent's death, as it was about his own victory.

The same could not be said for Angel.

The golden gleam in his feral eyes said that he had every intention of fighting until Spike was dust, and Buffy was free from his claim.

Never mind whether or not Buffy wanted to be free of the claim.

At the moment, however, it did not appear that it was even going to be a possibility. Spike was firmly holding the upper hand, and was determined not to let it go, as he rained blow after powerful blow upon the one he once would not have dared to resist, let alone to strike. Angelus had taken many things from Spike during his younger years – but now he was determined to take them all back.

"You know," he sneered, smirking at the older vampire who stood near the wall Spike had just thrown him into, trying to catch his breath. "There's just one thing I'm still trying to figure out, Peaches." His golden eyes flashed fury, in spite of his light, mocking tone, as he went on, "…whether you're more insanely jealous over losing rights to Buffy forever – or me…"

He shrugged, a light of triumphant amusement in his eyes as they met his sire's enraged gaze. "Doesn't matter really. Got no rights to either of us anymore."

With a feral snarl, Angel rallied his strength and lunged for the blonde vampire, not even bothering to attempt to discount any of his words.

"I'll kill you!" he vowed furiously. "Then we'll see about that, Spike! Buffy will be free of your claim, and whatever thrall you've got on her that's keeping her from seeing the truth about you – and I'll be free of you!"

"That really what you want, Peaches?" Spike taunted him, his piercing blue eyes seeing enough in Angel's expression to make the older vampire seriously uncomfortable. "Because I don't think you want me dead…I think what you want is…"

His words were cut off as Angel's weight slammed into him, knocking him to the ground; but he quickly managed to reverse their positions, using the leverage provided by his position to pin his larger sire to the floor beneath him.

"I could care less what happens to you, Spike," Angel ground out through gritted teeth, his arms trembling with the as-yet futile effort to break his childe's hold. "All I care about is setting Buffy free from your thrall…"

"Please!" Spike sneered with a disbelieving laugh, incredulous eyes searching Angel's even as he struggled to hold him down. "What bloody thrall? All the girl needed to do to want me was to bloody well wake up! To want you…" He frowned thoughtfully before shrugging it off and finishing with a grin, "Well – she'll never want you!"

"Shut up!" Angel nearly screamed in his fury and frustration, as he finally managed to free one hand, landing a vicious punch across Spike's ridged face, and using the opportunity to roll them over again.

Buffy recoiled slightly from the out-of-control, violent rage she heard in his voice – and then found herself stepping instinctively forward at the sight of the powerful blow. If Spike was actually in danger, she would leap into the fight without hesitation – Spike's manly pride notwithstanding.

But her mate was clearly more than capable of holding his own, she realized with a surge of pride of her own, as he easily returned Angel's blow, even from his position on his back on the floor, then threw the older vampire backward off of him with a snarl.

As both vampires leapt to their feet again, he sneered, "Yeah – that's the funny thing about the truth, in'nit, mate? Stings a bit, yeah?" As he spoke, Angel lunged for him again – but Spike ducked quickly out of his path, catching him in the back with a savage kick that sent him sprawling to the floor on his face.

Spike wasted no time; in the next instant, he was upon Angel again, pinning him to the ground, as he growled softly in his ear, "Things could be different this time around, yeah? All previous claims on me -- including your bloody sire's rights – don't bloody well count anymore…I can't ever be put under a dominance claim again."

He paused for effect, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he added, "You, on the other hand – are still bloody well fair game, 's far as I can tell, Peaches…"

The sharp gasp that left Angel's throat at those words betrayed his fear at such a thought – and the soft, chilling growl that he let out the next moment made the younger vampire freeze – just for a moment – as a century-old memory assailed his mind…

"_You think you can take me, boy?" the dark vampire's voice was soft, deadly, as he closed in slowly on the frightened childe before him._

"_No – no, sire," William whispered, shaking his head, looking away, pressed back as far against the wall as he could go, a look of stark terror on his face at his sire's advance. "I didn't – I didn't mean to…"_

"_By all means, William," Angelus countered, as if William had not spoken at all, as he patiently closed the gap between them, placing his huge hands on the wall on either side of the boy's head – hemming him in, "you're more than welcome to try."_

_The cruel, dangerous glint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes, the soft black satin of his voice, so deceptively gentle, only served to increase William's terror – and his sire relished every morsel of it. _

_The defiant game face that had emerged, unbidden, at the sight of what Angelus had been doing to Dru – for once against her will – had by this point receded completely; and all that was left was the frightened, helpless slave that Angelus had made of him, now trembling before his master – his sire – his claimant._

"_No – I don't want to – I mean – I wasn't trying to…"_

_The harsh, almost casual backhand across his face was much less forceful than Angelus' blows usually were – but it was still enough to drive William's head back against the unyielding stone wall behind him, and effectively silence his stammered, desperate explanations._

"_Go on, boy – try it," Angelus goaded him, his voice bordering on a whisper – yet so cold, so deadly – so very powerful. "You know you want to…"_

_This game – whatever it was, this time, that his sire had in mind – had the young vampire's entire body shaking with dread, panicked at the position he was in. He knew full well that if he did as Angelus was suggesting and tried to fight back, he could be ordered to stillness with a single word – making him even more helpless than he already was at this moment._

_But if he disobeyed…_

"_How far do you think I'd let you take it, Will? Hmm?" Angelus pressed, moving in closer to William's throat, his own fangs glistening menacingly, inches from the boy's vulnerable flesh. "A bit closer than this, maybe?"_

_William flinched involuntarily, jerking away – and the master vampire immediately grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head back against the wall mercilessly – not sparing his strength this time. He dropped the calm, patient façade for a moment to snarl in his childe's face, "Do not pull away from me, boy!"_

"_I'm sorry – please – I'm sorry," William pleaded, frozen by the command, the icy fingers of panic closing slowly around his still heart at the realization that he couldn't move away from his sire's deadly fangs._

"_Think I'd let you actually touch me?" Angelus sneered. His hard hand in William's hair jerked his head to the side, exposing his mark of dominance on his throat – now throbbing with the pain caused by his claimant's rage – as his other hand found his childe's hip, pulling him firmly against him, revealing to him that the desire he had left unfulfilled when he had interrupted Angelus and Drusilla was still very much present._

"_Please – please, don't," William begged him, his face streaked with tears that pressed past his closed eyelids to run down his cheeks, mingling with the blood from his lip, already broken by Angelus' fist._

"_Look at you!" he sneered. "Crying, cringing like a pathetic little – well, human! And you think you could actually have challenged me?" His tone was incredulous, amused even – but still full of that dangerous, sadistic quality that sent a chill through William's undead heart, at the knowledge of how much he was enjoying his pain, his terror._

"_No – no, I never thought that…" he insisted. "Please, please, sire, I'm sorry…"_

_Angelus released his grip on his hair, edging back just a bit, as he ordered softly, "Come on, William. Do it."_

_The trembling vampire shook his head, his eyes closed and downcast, as he whispered, "No – no, I'm sorry – please – I didn't mean to…"_

"_Did you hear me, William?" the calm, soft voice held a note of deadly menace to it that froze William in his place._

_He looked up at his sire, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. "W-what…?"_

"_I said do it, William!" Angelus snarled, closing on him again. "Do it! Let me show you what a pathetic, worthless excuse for a vampire you really are, you little nothing!"_

_William flinched from the rage in his sire's voice, drawing back against the wall, shaking his head in denial. He knew now what Angelus' game was – and he knew that there was no way he could possibly win it._

"_Please don't – please, sire, don't make me…"_

"_William…"_

"_I'm yours – I know it – you don't have to – please…" William desperately bared his throat to his sire again, desperate to prove his submission._

"_William," Angelus took the single step required to bring him back into William's personal space, leaning in close to meet his terrified eyes, "Don't make me tell you again."_

_Aware that it was his own doom he was sealing, but having no other choice, William forced his other face to the forefront, lunging half-heartedly toward his sire – and as he had expected, was immediately thrown to the ground under the larger vampire's hulking weight…beaten viciously with his fists…torn at with his fangs…until he could offer no more resistance, had he even had the will to try._

_Lowering his fangs to the sobbing, broken boy's throat, Angelus ordered, "Look at me."_

_William obediently met his eyes, his own wide and brimming with fresh tears – and he saw the malevolence, the cruelty there – knew that Angelus was not through punishing him yet._

"_Please," he whispered. "No -- please…"_

"_Mine, William – you're mine!" Angelus snarled, painfully wrenching his head to the side, and plunging his fangs into his throat without pity, tearing at the throbbing mark of his possession, punishing him as he pulled viciously from his blood, deliberately causing him as much pain as possible, using the bond to express completely his rage, his utter displeasure with his childe._

_A last, strangled cry of desperate agony tore from the younger vampire's throat as he sobbed out, "No…please, sire…please…"_

"Don't -- please, Spike – don't!" Angel gasped out – and the plea that seemed so familiar, coinciding with his own remembered voice in his mind, dragged Spike out of the memories that had momentarily consumed him.

He froze, taking in the situation he was in – realizing that he had not moved an inch from the position he had been in. He was staring down at the older vampire's throat, his fangs poised over his flesh, ready for the victorious bite that would bring Angel under subjection.

But – was that what he wanted to do?

Spike drew back slightly, gripping Angel's shoulder and turning him over so that he could look into his eyes – the eyes of the vampire who had tortured and demeaned him for twenty years – now staring up at him fearfully, full of the same helpless panic that he had felt himself for all that time.

Only – no, he corrected himself grimly in his mind. Not the same. I've never been the bloody sadist that Angelus was.

He drew back again, somewhat reluctantly, rising up off of his sire, looking down with admitted satisfaction at the sight of the bruised, bloodied vampire, now trembling with the fear of what Spike had almost done to him. Angel's eyes were wide, staring up at Spike as if not quite sure yet that he had decided not to humiliate him further, slowly wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

A slow, soft release of a bated breath, a sound of obvious relief, drew Spike's attention from his sire to his mate, who as he did, slowly raised her eyes from the fallen vampire on the floor, to meet his over a soft smile.

She was standing to the side, having watched the fight carefully, and he could see the troubled expression that was jus now fading from her eyes as she realized that he did not intend to finish what he had almost done.

She knew that Angel would deserve it if Spike did decide to bring him under a dominance claim – or to end his life, for that matter.

That didn't mean she wanted to watch it happen.

Spike looked back down at his sire, whose expression spoke of resignation, defeat, acceptance that Spike had won the fight – but still a good measure of jealousy, anger, and resentment that the prize would never be his.

"She's mine, Peaches," Spike finally said, his tone frank and matter-of-fact, echoing the thoughts that were so clear on Angel's face. "And – and I'm hers. You're simply out of the equation, mate. And as long as you see fit to stay out of it – I'll see fit to let you live."

Angel looked away from him, as he pulled himself weakly to his feet, bracing himself against the wall. He could not bring himself to respond – had no idea what to say – and his demon was raging at him to fight, to not quit yet. Spike had not finished it – he could still…

No, Angel told himself firmly, fighting it back. Leave him be…you've done enough damage…

There was a look in his childe's eyes -- behind the calm, confident composure that made a part of Angel proud, in spite of himself – the faintest hint of the broken, wounded creature that he had once been, that Angel had once made him.

Angel's soul despised the thought of doing him any further damage.

But his demon clamored furiously for the destruction of the insolent boy who had defied his sire and taken what was once his.

"You know," Spike could not resist a parting shot, unaware of the inner battle still raging within his sire. He turned to face Angel momentarily, before moving toward Buffy's side. "You once told me something about the Slayer – something I used to hurt her a few weeks back…"

Buffy's slight flinch revealed that in spite of all that had happened since her fight with Spike, just before he had been chipped, she still remembered exactly what he was talking about.

"You were wrong," Spike went on, turning to face Buffy, his expression soothing as he met her eyes. "Seems to me, you're the one that wasn't worth a second go…but then – I could have told her that…"

Even as he mocked his sire, he searched his mate's eyes a bit anxiously, unsure if what he had said had served to help or to hurt her injured feelings, still vulnerable at his recent reminder of Angel's cruel treatment of her feelings, years earlier.

I was a stupid git to ever tell her about that, he thought. Now she probably thinks she's…

Buffy's suddenly wide-eyed, fearful expression was the first clue he had that something was wrong – and in the next moment, his sire's bulk hit him full force from behind, slamming him to the ground and raining blows upon him.

His jaw setting in determination, eyes narrowing in righteous fury, Spike managed to wrench his body upward and throw his opponent off of him, and a few feet away, before throwing himself back into the fight with renewed vigor. This was a fight he was more determined than ever to win.

Those final incensing words had made Angel angry enough to lose the fragile control he had been clinging to – and now, Spike was no longer dealing with Angel.

Angelus was in control, for the moment.

Bloody fine with me, he thought grimly. Means I don't have to hold back…

Yes, he thought with a sinister smile. That was just fine with him.

His vengeance was at hand.


	96. Chapter 96

Angelus was momentarily thrown backward by Spike's counter-assault – but almost immediately recovered, lunging for his childe and hurling him to the ground beneath him, and then falling upon him with vicious intensity, before he could even think of getting up.

Angel had been angry, defensive, over losing what he thought was his – but ultimately, had been reigned by his guilt over the crimes he had already committed against Spike, humiliating and torturing him until he had eventually left him broken and destroyed.

His soul had been horrified and sickened by the wreckage he had made of the once innocent young man.

His demon only longed to break him again.

"That the way you wanna play this, Will?" Angelus snarled, glaring down at Spike, as he held him pinned to the floor, glistening fangs inches from his throat. "Aim for the weakest spot? Dirty fighting? Fine with me!" he sneered. "Just remember one thing, boy…"

He punctuated his words with a vicious upward thrust of his knee toward Spike's groin.

"…I taught you how!"

Spike had to admit -- by this point he was bloody exhausted. He had faced brutal torture at the hands of a Slayer -- several times -- completed a mating claim, only to face greater torture and physical agony at the hands of the same evil Slayer -- all capped by the hardest fight of his life, to bring the Slayer demon under subjection again.

And now – this.

Why did I think this was a good time for this again? he wondered with grim sarcasm.

He wanted to do this; he knew that he had to. If he didn't do this now, he might never get another opportunity. He wanted more than anything to show his sire just how far he was from the terrified childe that he had dominated and abused for so long -- he was just beginning to wonder if he was up to it at the moment.

Spike just barely managed to roll his hips to the side, narrowly avoiding the greatest impact of the painful blow, before twisting his wrists in his sire's grasp, freeing himself enough to shove the elder vampire's greater weight off of him, and summoning all his strength, swiftly reversing their positions.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice soft and breathless with the effort of the fight, as he mimicked Angelus' actions of moments before – only managing to complete the blow, where Angelus had failed to do so. "And I learned well, didn't I?"

The blinding pain that shot through Angelus at the impact to his groin did not even allow him the release of a scream. A barely audible gasping whistle of pain was all the sound that left his lips, and Spike smiled down at him with wickedly gleeful satisfaction.

"Tell me, sire," he mocked him casually. "How's that follow through you were always 'encouraging' me to improve on?"

Angelus was still not quite capable of a verbal response, though his eyes glared daggers of fury at his childe, and a low growl was clearly audible in his throat – a growl that, a century ago, would have frozen the younger vampire in his tracks.

Now, if it registered with the blonde vampire – now a master in his own right – he didn't let it show.

" 'Course," Spike went on thoughtfully, "your idea of encouragement involved hours of torture while you quizzed me on what exactly I'd done wrong – never mind the fact that half the time I was in too much bloody pain to think, let alone answer your soddin' questions…you'd just punish me for that, too…"

He paused, meeting Angelus' dark eyes full of loathing again, a cold half-smile on his lips as he asked softly, with a dark irony in his voice, "What do you think your big mistake was in this little scenario, Angelus?"

The dark vampire glared up at him, snarling as he began to recover from the blow and tried – too soon – to push his childe off of him – only to find himself slammed forcefully down against the floor again.

"No," Spike drawled slowly, his voice a calm mockery of patience, as he smiled grimly down at the vampire who had once taken so much pleasure in turning his existence into a study in misery and humiliation. "Got to answer the question, and correctly – or you'll just get punished again…"

Angelus managed to recover enough to snarl furiously, "I'm gonna kill you, you worthless little…"

Spike raised one hand to strike a vicious blow across his sire's face that momentarily stunned him enough to cease his threats and his struggles, as he fought just to recover from the dazing blow Spike had dealt him.

"Wrong answer," Spike announced matter-of-factly, mingled anger and triumph in his eyes, though his voice remained calm and steady.

Enraged by the audacity of the younger vampire, whom he still viewed as nothing more than his own property, to use or to throw away as he saw fit, Angelus rose up beneath him, snapping at his throat with bared fangs, shoving him backward with an extreme force of will that simply would not allow him to stay in that subservient position for a moment longer.

As Spike started to rise from where he had stumbled backward onto the floor, Angelus caught his ankle in one powerful hand and jerked his leg out from under him, causing him to lose his balance and fall back down onto the floor, as the older vampire struggled to his feet.

Buffy stepped forward, her heart pounding with fear at the thought that Angelus might gain the upper hand. She could feel Spike's weariness through the claim, could feel that he was gradually wearing down -- and she was fully prepared to do whatever it took to protect her mate – even if that meant reducing the first love of her life, the one she had given her youth and virginity to, to nothing but dust and ashes.

No.

Her mate's voice was strong and clear in her head, even as she watched his attempt to rise met by a brutal punch from Angelus that sent him staggering back, stumbling again.

Spike – I can't let him…

Not your fight, pet…let it be…

Frustrated, it was all Buffy could do to keep from running to his defense, as Angelus followed up his first punch with several more, backing Spike gradually toward the wall, never pausing long enough between blows to allow the younger vampire to get one in.

Spike – give yourself a break! You've been fighting all night! If he hurts you because I'm standing here doing nothing, I'll never be able to forgive myself…

And if the only reason he doesn't hurt me is because you step in…I'll never be able to live with myself.

She was struck with the simple truth of her mate's calm, accepting words – accepting of whatever the outcome of this fight would be, yet certain in one thing…the victory, or the defeat, in this particular battle, had to be his and his alone.

As difficult as it was for her, Buffy forced herself to stay put, as Angelus closed the gap between himself and his childe again, gripping Spike's collar and slamming him hard against the wall behind him, while the dazed younger vampire struggled to get his bearings back after the volley of vicious blows that had allowed him no time to recover between them.

"I think I figured out what my mistake was, Will," Angelus finally answered the question Spike had asked him, his voice soft and threatening, a cruel smirk on his face as he drew in closer to the smaller vampire to whisper close to his ear, "Ever…letting…you…go…"

The suggestive note to his low voice sent a little shudder of fear through Spike, in spite of himself – but it also cut through the fog created by the last few blows he had taken, and spurred him on to action.

No! he thought with a desperate determination. Not again -- never again!

He tried again to push his larger sire away from him – but his strength was swiftly fading, drained by this final fight, after so many others already this night.

Angelus slammed him back against the wall again before pinning his wrists, leaning in with a sadistic grin as he went on, "I shouldn't have let that claim lapse, Will," he remarked softly, his eyes raking slowly up and down Spike's body with undisguised lust. "You know what they say about not knowing a good thing 'til it's gone?"

"Yeah, well – it is gone, Peaches!" Spike declared, struggling against Angelus' grip, which only seemed to strengthen as his own physical strength waned. "You can't claim me now – not now that I'm Buffy's mate!"

A cruel laugh, like shattering crystal, left the master vampire's lips, and he shook his head in false sympathy. "William, William, my boy," he mused softly with a mockery of affection. "Have you forgotten so quickly? I have many ways of keeping you under control – claim or no claim…"

He leaned in close to whisper in Spike's ear, too quiet for Buffy to pick up the words.

But the mental picture those words were creating in her mate's mind was unmistakable.

As Angelus poured out his vicious words, telling a horrifying story of unbreakable chains, unrelenting agony, darkness and lonely solitude broken only when he chose to break it, to play with his bound, helpless toy – the wave of despair that Spike felt nearly swept Buffy away with it. Memories mingled with threats to form a terrifying, morbid montage of blood and screams and helpless, mind-numbing terror – and not without good cause.

Spike knew very well what it was that he was afraid of.

Unfortunately – so did Angelus.

The rising panic brought on by his carefully placed words did nothing to increase Spike's strength – if anything, the trembling that started deep in his chest, spreading out to consume his limbs, served only to weaken his efforts to break his sire's grip.

"You should have known better than to fight me by now, boy," Angelus sneered in a dark, thunderous voice near his ear – still low enough that only Spike could hear him.

The impulse he suddenly had to go still – to submit – frightened Spike more than anything else his sire had done so far.

No, no, you stupid wanker! he berated himself disgustedly. Don't let him do this – don't let him…

Spike – do you want me to…

No! he emphatically cut off his mate's anxious offer. No, Buffy – I can handle this.

There was a moment's silence in his head, before he heard her dubious voice again, Spike – I don't know what he's saying to you – he obviously doesn't want me to know – but don't listen to him! You can do this, Spike, he has no claim – no power over you!

Spike was silent for a moment, trying to make himself accept the words that his mind knew were true, but that his heart could not quite feel. He replied softly after a moment, his mental voice betraying his fear, Bloody well feels like he does.

It was nearly enough for Buffy to disregard his wishes completely, to jump in and help him, even if he hated her for it.

"Hey," Angelus smirked with mocking reproof in his voice. "No secrets. What are you two talking about, huh?" Without changing his tone, he raised one hand to suddenly seize Spike's throat in a crushing grip, and added softly, "You probably don't wanna come any closer, Buff – not unless you want me to take his head off."

Buffy froze, a soft, strangled cry of fear stopping in her throat, and Angelus glanced at her for a moment with – amazingly – something resembling concern in his dark eyes.

"You'd be better off without him, anyway, Buffy," he pointed out. "You'd be free, to choose whoever you wanted – except him, of course." The cruel smile on his face sent a wave of familiar fears and shame through Spike's heart and mind.

But through it all, through the overwhelming fear and desperation to turn the tables on his sire again, something was niggling at the back of his mind – a vague thought struggling to come into focus. Something Buffy had said, about Angelus…something about the look on his sire's face as he had turned to glance at the Slayer, actually appearing to be concerned for her feelings – to a point.

Even now – he was attempting to ease the hurt and worry he knew she felt over the possibility that he might kill Spike.

That was not something the Angelus he had known would ever have done.

It was something that Angel would have done.

Suddenly – Spike understood exactly what was happening.

Buffy – he still has his soul!

It was a good thing that Angel's back was turned to the Slayer – because her wide-eyed look of shock would surely have given Spike's silent communication away.

What are you talking about, Spike? That is so not Angel we're dealing with here – this is…

I bloody well know who we're dealing with, pet, Spike cut her off sharply, his voice trembling with anger, and some other emotion that was too painful for Buffy to even attempt to define. Just – just try to bloody distract him…

"Angel – please…" Buffy stepped toward him, but it was not in a threatening way. "Please don't do this!" she urgently pleaded, keeping her voice soft and submissive.

"Buffy – you don't really know what you're asking," the dark vampire replied, his voice grim, though he was still smiling as Spike's hands scrabbled uselessly at the large, powerful arm that held his throat in a vise-like grip.

A century later – Angel still remembered how terrified the inability to breathe could make the smaller vampire; he had used it to his own ends enough times to know.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this…how many years I've…"

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, moving in yet closer to his childe, his softly spoken hatred intended for Spike, though he was addressing Buffy.

"And now – he actually thinks he's gonna move in and take what's mine -- mine! What rightfully belongs to me!" He shrugged slightly, tightening his grip on Spike's throat as he met his eyes and continued, "You've just left me with no choice but to kill you, boy. The claim might be unbreakable…You, on the other hand…." His huge fist slammed into Spike's stomach, hard enough that he would have collapsed had Angel not been holding him against the wall. "…you're not!"

"I'm not rightfully yours, Angel," Buffy informed him, her voice calm and even, and absolutely certain.

She wanted nothing more than to rush over, grab Angel and yank him away from Spike, pound him to dust with her bare hands, rescue her mate from the perilous situation he was in. And she knew that she could. She could easily subdue Angel, if she wanted to – and she did want to!

But if she did – she would save her mate from physical harm – and take from him forever any chance of regaining the dignity that Angelus had stolen from him.

"Buffy," Angel turned halfway to face her, without releasing his grip on his childe's throat. "I know you're hurt – I know you're mad at me…but…"

"No," Buffy said firmly. "When you left me, I was mad at you. This is not 'mad at you', Angel. This is wanting to find the slowest possible way to dust you and then make it as absolutely painful as I possibly can. This is absolute rage that you would dare to touch my mate like that!"

A disgusted sneer crossed Angel's face, as he scoffed, "Please, Buffy – don't even call him that! You did what you had to do to save the world – I get that. But I know a part of you will always love…"

"I never loved you, Angel."

The lie fell from her lips with greater ease than she could have imagined – and it immediately gained the attention of the dark-haired vampire, who spun around to face her, easing his grip on Spike's throat finally as he stared at her, wide-eyed and incredulous.

"What?"

Spike's expression did not change, and he did not try to pull away – yet – but he was laughing on the inside. Buffy's words had reached past the demon side of Angel that had been in control, to the man side that had loved the girl, even if it had been a selfish love. And by Angel's reaction, it was obvious to Spike – this was going to work.

And he was going to love every moment of watching it work.


	97. Chapter 97

"I think you heard the lady correctly, Peaches," Spike rasped out. Angel's grip on his throat had eased enough to allow him to speak – sort of. "Not so bloody hard to figure out – she never loved you. I could have told you that!"

Speech turned out to be a bit of a mistake at the moment.

Angel's attention immediately returned to his childe, dark eyes blazing with vindictive fury as he tightened his grip on Spike's throat again, cutting off his oxygen and effectively silencing him again.

How am I supposed to keep him distracted exactly, when you keep pissing him off? Buffy demanded, her obvious irritation with her mate a poor cover for her concern.

Sorry, love – couldn't bloody well help it.

"Shut up, Spike!" Angel ordered with a cold smile, referring to the actual audible words he had spoken, completely unaware of the mental conversation that had just occurred. "I'm talking to Buffy right now. Be patient. We are going to finish this! Just – give me a minute…"

He punctuated his words with a brutal punch to the younger vampire's stomach, which doubled him over in pain, followed up by a vicious blow that slammed his head back against the wall again with blinding force. Angel released him then, allowing him to drop to the floor on his hands and knees, gasping and choking for breath, as his sire turned dismissively away from him and back to face Buffy.

The message of his actions was clear. He would deal with Spike – but only when he was ready to do so – and in the meantime, he wanted him enough out of commission that he could not interfere.

Angel had more important things than Spike to think about at the moment.

"Buffy – how could you – what – what are you talking about?" he managed to get out, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "Of course you loved me…I was…"

"My first love, my forever love, no one else can compare," Buffy finished for him in a bored voice, rolling her eyes as she added, "Blah, blah, blah…"

Angel's eyes widened even further at her unconcerned words, as Buffy simply stared at him and went on in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

"No, Angel. I was a sixteen-year-old girl and you were like – what? Two hundred? That in itself is a world of ick. But at the time," she shrugged slightly, looking away for a moment as she remembered, a slightly wistful look in her eyes, "you were all – dark and heroic and mysterious --- and kinda sexy – and – of course I was – well – intrigued…"

The hopes that Angel had allowed to rise at her softened tone, the affectionate expression on her face, were shattered instantly when she shrugged again, looking up at him blankly.

"But you know – I grew up – got over it."

"You – you told me that you loved me!" Angel insisted, his voice trembling slightly.

"I was sixteen. I didn't even know what love was, Angel. Not really."

"I showed you!" Angel countered, his voice rising with desperation, trembling as he took another step toward her.

Behind him, Spike watched the scene carefully as it played out, his eyes on the slowly decreasing distance that separated his mate from his emotionally unstable sire, as he struggled to catch his breath, waiting for just the right moment to catch Angel off guard. Angel's desperation was an almost tangible thing – and at the moment, with his control on his demon so tentative, Spike did not think that Buffy was all that much safer than he was.

Well – aside from the whole healthy, ready-for-a-fight Slayer thing she had going on – in sharp contrast to his weary, fight-worn condition.

"No. You really didn't," Buffy stated softly, shaking her head, a sad resignation in her shining emerald eyes. "What you showed me was– an obsession – and it turned brutal and painful and – and like nothing I'd ever want to feel again, Angel."

Her voice quavered slightly over the words, and she shook her head again as she added, "Spike – he showed me what real love feels like, Angel – when he stood between me and my mother – when I was intent on killing her for getting in my way – and allowed me to torture him instead, just to protect her. Because he loves her. And he loves me – too much to let me do something that would have – would have killed me."

"Buffy – that wasn't you – that couldn't have been you!" Angel reminded her, momentarily distracted by the horror of the scene she had just recreated in his mind with her description.

"It wasn't," she agreed softly. "And yet – it was, Angel. In a way – it was."

The blank look he was giving her in response told her that he really did not understand at all what she was trying to say.

"Buffy – that's really not the point," he shook his head dismissively as he tried to redirect the conversation back toward the topic he really wanted to discuss – his and Buffy's doomed relationship.

"But it is!" Buffy cut him off, taking a step closer to him, holding his gaze. "Angel – can't you see what I'm trying to tell you?"

"Buffy – I know you were in love with me," Angel bulldozed blindly past her words, focused only on one aspect of the conversation – not the point she was trying so hard to make. Without changing his tone or turning around, he suddenly added, "Try to get up again, Spike – and I'll come over there and make sure that you can't."

Only when his words were finished did he turn his head to meet the slightly startled eyes of his childe, who had frozen in place, his hand braced against the wall halfway through his attempt to pull himself to his feet. Without a word, his gaze arrested by his sire's cruelly gleaming eyes, Spike sank back to his knees on the floor.

Not 'cause I'm bloody scared, he told himself emphatically. Just waiting for the right time is all. He doesn't scare me – can't anymore…

But his mind could not erase the memories that Angel's knowing smirk had brought back to him, memories of the time he knew he sire was remembering as well – a time when he could not have even attempted to get up – a time when he had been paralyzed and helpless to in any way escape his sire's vicious attentions.

And more chilling than the memory, and Angel's subtle threat of recreating it – was the expression in the older vampire's darker-than-usual gaze as the memory played through his mind as well. His reaction to the memory was unmistakable.

Soul or not – Angel was enjoying it.

"I was never in love with you, Angel," Buffy's unyielding voice repeated, thankfully drawing Angel's attention away from Spike, and he turned to face her again as she continued, "How could I have been? I never even knew you! Only – only the side of you that you wanted me to see…"

Angel flinched, the words hitting him harder than a blow would have, every bit as effective as a slap in the face. "Buffy – how can you say that?" he asked softly. "I gave you all I had, Buffy – let you see all there was to give – how can you say that you didn't know me?"

"Because you didn't let me see all there was, Angel," Buffy replied simply, but with certainty in her voice. "You hid parts of yourself away from me – until it was too late. The darkness – the violence – anything you thought might make me think less of you – you held back from me. In fact, you held it back so long and so hard that eventually you couldn't hold it back anymore – and it nearly killed me, and everyone I loved."

"Buffy – that wasn't me! That was Angelus! If we hadn't…"

"No!" Buffy cut him off sharply, her voice suddenly trembling with anger as she met his eyes, her own shining with tears, but blazing with defiance. "I am not going to take the responsibility for that anymore! It was not my fault that Angelus got loose. You're responsible for that, Angel. You are Angelus!"

Her harshly spoken words stopped the argument that the vampire had been preparing in his mind, before it ever left his lips, as he stared at her in stunned hurt and disbelief. Before he could even begin to formulate a response, she was going on again.

"You were cursed with a soul, Angel – but that didn't change who you were! If you wanted to do cruel, evil things before you got the soul – you still do – you just feel guilty about wanting to do them, now." She paused, glancing past him at her mate before turning an arresting gaze, smoldering with anger, on Angel again.

"Most of the time," she added pointedly.

Angel deliberately chose to ignore her reference to the battered form of his childe behind him, the cruelty he had unleashed upon him only moments earlier. Instead, he focused on the part of the argument that he still felt he had a chance of winning.

"Buffy – you're wrong. I'm a completely different person now. I've changed – I'm not evil anymore...I'm good…"

"Angel," Buffy shook her head, a sad, ironic smile on her lips as she pointed out softly, "no, you're not. I'm not even good. That's what I've learned through all of this. We all have darkness, Angel – and trying to pretend it's not there doesn't make it go away. You tried that – and in the end, it got out anyway – and it ripped into everything and everyone you cared about…"

"No," he objected – and Buffy could almost see the emotional walls going up around him, as he struggled to protect the concepts and mindsets that had made his existence bearable for him for the past century, in light of his previous guilt. "No, Buffy – you're wrong…"

"Please just listen to me, Angel…" Buffy pressed him, as gently as possible, but with her frustration still evident in her voice. "Your soul doesn't mean that Angelus doesn't exist – if anything, it just makes it easier for you to keep that side of yourself under control…but you can't say that you're not responsible for the things he's done…because when you get right down to it…Angel and Angelus are not separate people. Angel is just Angelus…who happens to have a soul."

Angel stared at her for a long moment, struggling both to come to terms with what she had said, and to block it out of his mind completely.

"Er – excuse me…"

The light tap on his shoulder took him by surprise, and he turned without thinking – directly into a fight that he was utterly unprepared for at the moment.

The powerful blow that landed in his face, knocking him backward and nearly to the ground, was even more startling, as the blonde vampire watched his reaction to the blow with grim satisfaction, visibly readying himself for the older vampire's attempt at retaliation.

Which he had no intention of allowing him to get.

Angel was now sufficiently distracted and overwhelmed, that even in his weakened state, Spike was certain that he would be able to take him on – and win. Over a century had been spent, with the fear and the scars from his sire always in the back of his mind – if not the forefront – but not after tonight.

"Come on, Peaches. Get up," he urged him, flexing his hands into fists and then opening them up again. "I believe I've waited long enough for this."


	98. Chapter 98

Buffy's startling speech seemed to have taken the fight right out of the souled vampire. Spike was actually almost disappointed by Angel's lack of effort in defending himself against his childe's renewed attack. The younger vampire now easily managed to back his sire into a corner, pummeling with his fists while Angel did little except to attempt to block his blows.

And those attempts mostly failed, at that.

"Right easy, wasn't it, Angelus?" Spike sneered triumphantly, his eyes blazing with a century's worth of anger and resentment. "Taking a newborn fledge – one who bloody well worshipped you at the time, I'll admit – and turning him into your soddin' slave – your bloody toy, to torture and rape and abuse any bloody way you felt like it! Tell me, Angelus – was it worth it?"

Buffy realized suddenly as she watched the scene, transfixed by the intense drama playing out before her eyes, that there were tears streaming down her face. She would not have noticed them, except that they had begun to obscure her view of the tragically painful, raw scene taking shape before her.

And deep within her heart, she felt the stirrings of a deep-seated hurt, a sense of wounded dignity and betrayal that she knew belonged to her mate. She was quite literally feeling Spike's pain, the bittersweet tumult of emotions that engulfed him as he finally received the opportunity to face down his abuser, his destroyer – the one who had battered and tortured him and eventually turned him into the creature he was today.

"Stop calling me that!" Angel demanded furiously, his voice shaking with the powerful emotions that he was struggling to suppress. "I'm not him! I'm not! Stop calling me Angelus!"

Gripping his sire's throat and slamming him back against the wall, forcing him to meet his eyes, Spike leaned in close to him to declare softly but emphatically, in a threatening growl that dared Angel to attempt to deny the truth of his words, "Yes – you – bloody – well – are!"

"No!" Angel gasped out, struggling weakly to break his childe's grip on his throat. "No – I have it under control now – now that I have a soul! I haven't been evil in years, Spike…"

"Because you've chosen not to be," Spike pointed out, even as he nodded his acknowledgement of Angel's words. "Doesn't mean it's not still in you to be evil, Angelus. It's all a matter of your choice – soul or no soul."

"No – I could never do the things that Angelus did…"

"Couldn't you?" Spike cut him off, challenging his words, as he eased his grip on his throat ever so slightly – just enough to allow him to speak. He planned to make his point to his sire, once and for all – and it would be pretty difficult for Angel to concede defeat if he couldn't draw breath at all.

Spike went on, his eyes narrowed in accusation, "Because a few minutes ago, you were all too happy to remember those things – seemed bloody intent on doing them again, too!"

The trapped expression in Angel's eyes told Spike just how right his words were. Angel had been very much out of control during the fight that had preceded this one, before Buffy had interrupted with her well-timed words – but he clearly remembered every last thing he had said and done – every last thought that had gone through his mind, of past crimes against the blonde vampire facing him now.

And not every one of those thoughts had been entirely unpleasant to him at the time.

In fact, though he was loathe to admit it – quite the contrary.

Spike was right – Angel had wanted to recreate the past that lay between them.

"No – I wouldn't have let it go that far…" Angel insisted, shaking his head in desperate denial.

"Please!" Spike scoffed dismissively. "I've known you for a bloody century, Peaches! Don't think for a second I couldn't recognize that look in your eyes!"

His unyielding, frank gaze drove Angel's eyes down with shame, at the knowledge that he was not fooling his childe for a second. Spike knew Angel's darkness far too well to miss it in this instance.

"It – it was Angelus – I don't understand what happened…I must have – must have lost…"

"You didn't lose your bloody soul," Spike cut him off again, determined not to allow Angel to hide behind the defenses that had allowed him to live with his crimes for so long, without really dealing with them – to find a false sense of security in the false belief that he was not really responsible for the things he had done.

"No," Spike insisted firmly, "it's been very much in place for the past while, Peaches – and you still had no problem with knocking me about – threatening me with things that you claim to be so bloody ashamed of – so sorry for! With or without the soul, Angelus – you're a self-important, power-mad, manipulative, wanker of a pompous…"

Spike…

Buffy's gently reproving voice in his head seemed more focused on the element of the time -- time they had already spent too much of here, when they needed to get home – than it was on how hard he was being on Angel.

Right, love – wind it down, then, he agreed, never taking his eyes off Angel's face.

Aloud he finished, "Well – you've never been a very nice person – have you, Peaches? Way I see it – getting your soul back wasn't necessarily much of an improvement. Your main concern with the things you've done still seems to be how bad they make you look to other people – more than it is how you've actually hurt those other people…"

"That's not true," Angel insisted, though he couldn't seem to look Spike directly in the eyes. "You can't see inside my head, Spike – you can't possibly know…"

"Oh, but I can, Sire," Spike interrupted, his voice soft, his eyes lit with a strangely bittersweet triumph, a slightly distant expression on his face, as he remembered the many instances that had allowed him to know the dark workings of Angel's mind so very well.

Better than he had ever wanted to.

"So – all souled up at the moment, right?" Spike asked him, his eyebrows raised in a matter-of-fact question. "No worries over whether or not you're gonna try and dominate me again if I let you go?"

Angel shook his head quickly, eagerly grasping at the opportunity Spike seemed so willing to extend to him at the moment. "No – I'm in control, Spike." He paused for a moment before adding, "The soul does make me different – I know it does. I can prove it…"

Spike regarded him speculatively for a moment, as if trying to decide, before loosening his grip on Angel's throat, and then releasing him entirely.

"Right, then," he said with a half-shrug as he turned halfway away from his sire with a careless air. "Guess it's no problem then if I feel like telling you that your former told me there's no question as to who's more -- talented -- between you and I. No bloody contest, I believe she said." He glanced pointedly back at Angel with a smirk as he added casually,

"Don't believe she actually said 'bloody', though."

Spike – what are you doing? Buffy asked anxiously in his mind, though her expression betrayed none of her feelings. Is this really necessary?

Spike's words were accurate enough in his assessment of his and Angel's comparative – er – abilities…though she had never said anything outright to indicate that. And quite honestly, she did not think that bringing it up now was necessary, or wise. Her anger over the things that Angel had done to Spike had abated upon watching her mate take back his dignity, his sense of self-worth, from his sire – and now, she was simply ready to go home.

Oh, yes, pet, Spike replied, and she could hear the grin that he did not allow to show on his face. It's very necessary!

Angel's eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger, and Spike's vampire hearing could just barely pick up the soft growl he let out under his breath.

Suppressing a smile, he turned away again and said, "Bet you thought you'd broken her heart when you ran off and left…" He laughed mockingly, shaking his head, "Girl was right happy to see you go…was a relief not to have to pretend to feel something for you anymore…"

Angel's growl increased in volume slightly, as he edged nearer to his childe, almost without meaning to, before taking a step back again, shaking his head slightly as he visibly attempted to rein in his temper. 

"You're lying," he accused Spike in a voice that trembled with fury. "She never said that!"

"No," Spike corrected him with calm, mocking patience, "she was lying, Peaches -- when she told you it was good for her..."

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise at Spike's words, even as she stifled a laugh at his words -- truer than he realized. He was simply trying to get a rise out of Angel, really having little concept of how accurate his assessment might be.

A dark thought occurred to her, one she would really rather not consider, and a brooding frown to rival one of her former lover's crossed her face, as she realized.

Actually -- he did.

Buffy's grim observations were drawn to an abrupt close when Angel suddenly lunged at her mate without warning, grabbing him around the waist in a strong grip that held his arms pinned to his sides, as his free hand gripped his hair and yanked his head to the side in preparation to bite him.

"I'll teach you to talk to your sire like that, boy!"

Spike! Buffy's voice in his head was full of alarm – but his calm, unworried response stopped her before she could make a move forward to help him.

Wait, love…

Angel's fangs plunged downward toward Spike's throat, clearly intent on dominating him again, on forcing him back into subjection and ending his brutally truthful words – words that were still too painful for Angel to allow himself to process.

A part of Buffy's mind wondered why Spike made no move to try to stop him – no attempt to break his sire's hold on him or defend himself in any way. Surely Angel had not regained enough strength in the past few minutes to manage to subdue Spike, and reassert his former claim…

And then – she remembered.

And her fears melted away, as a slow smile spread across her face.

At precisely that moment – the same moment in which Angel's glistening fangs came into contact with Spike's throat – the older vampire jerked back away from him with a strangled cry of pain, releasing him and staggering backward a few steps, the back of his hand raised to cover his mouth, his eyes wide with surprise as he stared at his childe.

Spike's signature smirk was in place as he turned slowly to face him, meeting his eyes boldly. "Tingles a bit, don't it, mate?" he remarked with quiet mockery.

The recognition slowly dawned in Angel's eyes as he remembered what he had already known about the claim between Spike and Buffy – what he would have remembered, had his rage not so consumed him in that moment, screaming for him to make what was once his, his again.

But he barely had time to register the information, before the blonde vampire was stalking toward him with the feral grace of a predator, eyes narrowed and blazing with anger and determination – no trace of humor in those steel blue eyes now.

"Thought you were gonna teach me my place again, Sire," he remarked pointedly, his tone low, dark and deadly as he narrowed the gap between himself and Angel. "Thought you were gonna remind me who I belong to!" He paused, a few feet from Angel, with exaggerated thoughtfulness, before smiling and adding, "Oh, right – you did."

"Spike – don't," Angel said, his voice quiet and trembling slightly. "I wasn't – I mean – I wouldn't have…"

"You couldn't have," Spike corrected sharply, his tone unyielding. "But you would have, Peaches. Don't try and tell me that wasn't what you were going to do!"

"I'm still your sire, Spike," Angel insisted, meeting his eyes in a last ditch, desperate effort to draw on the younger vampire's natural respect for the position. "You can't – you wouldn't…"

"See – that's the tricky part, Angelus," Spike said, stepping slowly toward him again, so that he was now a bare foot from Angel, whose back was to the wall. "To be a sire – you'd have to have a childe – wouldn't you?"

Angel stared at him blankly, not quite comprehending what he was getting at.

"I was many things to you, Peaches," Spike continued, his voice soft and serious now, his eyes shining with deep, long-remembered pain. "Slave – minion – whipping boy…"

He shrugged slightly, and Buffy swallowed back a lump of tears that rose in her throat at the momentary vulnerability she saw in the gesture, in the briefly downcast glance of his expressive blue eyes, before he raised them to meet Angel's again, open and honest in his anger and hurt.

"I was whatever you bloody wanted me to be – but I was never your 'childe'. Not really."

Angel's eyes widened – and finally, as he understood what Spike was really saying…remorse became visible in his eyes.

"Spike – I…"

Spike swiftly cut him off, not ready or willing to hear his meaningless apologies right then. "Childer deserve – some sort of – of protection – of concern…if not love, than at least the right to some shred of dignity. Apparently – you didn't see me as fit to be your childe. Not really."

He was silent for a moment, holding Angel's gaze with a firm, intent look in his eyes that would not allow him to look away, as he finished softly,

"So I don't see you fit to be my sire."

While Angel stood there, stunned to silence by the words, Spike leaned in quickly, pushing him back against the wall and jerking his head to the side, sliding into game face at the exact moment that he lowered his mouth to Angel's throat, plunging his fangs through his skin and drinking deeply of the blood of his sire.

Angel did not resist – did not attempt to stop him – as tears streamed from his eyes, down his face, mingling with the blood that ran down his throat, stinging the open wound, as Spike finally withdrew his fangs to look once more into his sire's eyes.

He could see it there – acceptance, sorrow and shame. He could make the claim now, if he wanted to – reverse whatever rights Angel might have once had to control him, and bring the elder vampire under his dominance – and Angel would not so much as resist.

He knew that he deserved that, and more.

Spike stared at him for a moment, choking back a wave of emotion that washed over him with his memories, with the weight of the decision he was about to make.

And then – he released him.

He stepped back away from Angel, allowing the weakened vampire to slide down to the floor against the wall, faint from the loss of the blood Spike had taken.

"No," Spike decided, his voice soft, barely over a whisper, full of a falsely casual air that was meant to mask his overwhelming emotions. "Truth be told – don't really want you that much."

But he could not mask his emotions from his mate.

Spike…

Wait, Buffy – please wait, he cut her off gently – and she knew why he wanted her to wait.

His emotions were in a precarious state, where a single well-placed tender word could tip the balance – and Angel had seen all of Spike's tears that he ever would see, as far as Spike was concerned.

Into the still silence of the scene, Buffy's family and friends returned, falling into the silent mood that permeated the room, as they glanced around with confused, questioning expressions.

"Um – what'd we miss?" Xander asked lightly, though there was concern in his eyes as they met Buffy's.

She quickly looked away from him, and he frowned, bothered by her reaction.

Suddenly – every cruel word and thoughtless action of the past few days came back to her memory – and Buffy really did not want to talk to her friends – not until she had had time to decide exactly what she wanted to say.

Spike knew her feelings immediately, and quickly took charge, finally breaking his intense gaze away from his defeated sire.

"Slayer's ready to go," he said, his voice low and gruff, not quite looking at any of them. "Let's get to the cars."

"Buffy?" Joyce's voice was tentative, concerned, as she came up beside her daughter and touched her arm.

"Let's just go, Mom," Buffy agreed with her mate quietly. "We'll talk in the car."

That was all the encouragement Joyce needed to begin performing her motherly role, and ushering the curious Scoobies away and out into the sunlight, to the cars. She managed to locate an old blanket in one of the rooms where the Scoobies had slept, and tossed it over Spike, going out to open the door for him as he rushed back to his car.

As all the others prepared to leave, Buffy lingered behind, her eyes fastened on the vampire she had once thought was the love of her life.

He sensed her eyes on him, as the last of the Scoobies filed out of the room, and looked up at her for just a moment before looking away in shame.

"Buffy – I didn't mean to…I'm so sor…"

"Don't."

Her hard, trembling voice stopped him cold, and he waited in silence for the Slayer's judgment.

It was much gentler than he expected.

"It was you, Angel. Maybe you don't want to do the same things you once did. Maybe you want to be good. But some part of you does still want those things…and it's up to you to keep it under control. You can't use your soul as an excuse – as a – a way out of being responsible for the things you've done."

Angel had no protest – no argument. He had not quite accepted her words yet – but he knew that he could not deny them.

"I don't think Spike's going to want to see you anytime soon," Buffy went on quietly. "And I know I don't." She paused, before adding more softly, "But someday – that might change. I know you want to do the right thing, Angel. I know you want to be good. But until you can come to terms with the fact that on some level – you're just not, and that's something you're always going to have to deal with – you can't be a part of our lives."

Angel lowered his head, swallowing back tears that rose in his throat at her words, as she turned and slowly headed toward the door.

At the door, she stopped, half-turning to add in a soft, tender voice that spoke of the affection she had once held for him.

"But – I hope that you can come to terms with it. Someday. I really hope that you can."

And with those words of hope, and a sort of bittersweet, ironic acceptance – the Slayer walked out of her past, and into the brilliant future that awaited her.


	99. Chapter 99

Buffy got into the backseat of the DeSoto beside her mate, who was already seated in the middle of the bench seat. Spike's choice of seating was clearly to please Dawn, who was seated on his other side. There was no question in the younger girl's mind that Spike would want to sit next to Buffy – but she wanted to sit next to him, as well.

Therefore – the middle was the only place that Dawn would allow him to get away with sitting at the moment.

Buffy did not say anything for a long moment as she slid onto the seat, simply studying the expressions on the faces of her mate and sister. Both were looking straight ahead, Spike's expression one of practiced calm, and Dawn's one of poorly concealed concern. Buffy knew instinctively that her little sister had wasted no time in asking Spike about just what had gone on in the room while she had not been in it – and had been gently but firmly put off.

Now matter how much Dawn loved him, how badly she wanted to be a supportive friend to him – she was still very young, and Spike refused to share the painful, disturbing details of the situation with the innocent young girl.

And perhaps – he simply could not find the words.

At any rate, Dawn's hand was holding tightly to Spike's in a protective, comforting action that was all she had to offer at the moment – at least, all that he would accept – and Buffy could see that he was gladly accepting the gesture, tightly grasping her smaller hand in his in a reassuring response.

Buffy just wasn't really sure which of the two of them he was trying to reassure.

Spike did not look at her as she got into the car – his eyes focused somewhere around the dashboard of the car – but when Buffy gently wrapped her arm around his shoulders, he hesitated only a moment before he gratefully laid his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes and swallowing back the swell of emotion that rose up in him at her tender touch.

Yours, Buffy, she heard his soft yet fierce voice in her head, desperate and insistent. Only yours – not – not…

Always, Spike, she immediately offered the reassurance he craved. Always – no one else's – and I'm yours, too…just yours…

The events of the past hour were simply overwhelming, both for the vampire who had finally faced his past – and for the Slayer who had finally left hers behind. Beyond the simple reassurances that passed between them, that the bond they had established was and always would be still intact – no words needed to be said.

They just sat there, silently taking comfort in each other, simply feeling the nearness and connection between them, each shutting out their own thoughts of the recent traumas they had endured.

Joyce had been driving for about five minutes when she spoke quietly into the stillness, "Buffy, honey – do you think…?"

"Mom!" Dawn hissed in an insistent whisper. "Shh!"

Joyce frowned in slight irritation, glancing in the rearview mirror – and was surprised at the sight that met her eyes. Buffy's position made that of the invisible vampire in the mirror obvious, even though Joyce could not actually see him. The two of them were snuggled close together in the back seat, Buffy's hand resting peacefully on his arm, which seemed to be wrapped around her waist; and her head was leaned over slightly, resting on his, which was resting on her shoulder.

Both were fast asleep.

A little over an hour later, the car pulled to a stop in the Summers' driveway, and the sudden stilling of the vehicle after the lulling motion that had put her to sleep, now drew Buffy from her rest. She looked up, glancing around for a moment, a bit disoriented, before remembering where they were.

"Mr. Giles called while you were asleep, Honey," Joyce informed her. "I answered your phone for you. He said he should be back in town tomorrow morning."

Buffy just blinked at her sleepily for a moment, her mind still running on slow speed as she allowed herself to wake up. She glanced out the window just in time to see Xander parking his car next to the Desoto in the Summers' driveway. Inside the car, her friends appeared to be chattering on easily, as if now that they were all safe at home, all was suddenly right with the world.

As if her world had not been shattered and put back together more times than she could count, all in the space of the past twenty four hours.

Buffy just stared for a long moment through the tiny gap in the aluminum foil-covered cardboard that blocked out the sunlight, a slight frown on her face, her mind running slowly through the events of the past few days, before she and her family had taken off across the desert.

Finally she drew her attention back to her mother and nodded in response, meeting her eyes with a serious, slightly sad gaze.

"Mom – can you do me a favor?" she asked quietly.

"Of course, Buffy, what is it?" Joyce's brow furrowed with concern as she studied her daughter's troubled expression. "What's wrong?"

"Can you tell the others to just go home for right now? I – I really just can't deal with them right now. I'm – I'm so tired, and I really just -- don't know what to say to them…I just know that – that things can't be the way they were before – not without some serious changes…"

She frowned thoughtfully, before adding slowly, "And…I guess that would mean they still wouldn't be…like they were before – wouldn't it?"

Joyce couldn't help but laugh softly at her daughter's usual gift for mutilating the English language – but the laugh quickly faded when Buffy failed to return it, her emerald eyes still searching her mother's, with a pleading question in them.

"Things won't ever be the same, Mom," Buffy concluded, her tone earnest and desperate to make her mother understand what it was she was trying to say.

She did.

"They're still your friends, Buffy," Joyce reminded her gently.

"Maybe they are," Buffy shrugged slightly, looking away. "Maybe they aren't. But – if they can't accept Spike being a part of my life…" Her voice trailed off, as she shook her head slightly. "Anyway," she finally continued, "I need to sleep – and so does Spike. I'm sure we all do. So – if you could just tell them that I'll call them tomorrow, after I hear from Giles? And we can all meet up then."

She paused, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh as she turned her gaze back toward the window.

"Hopefully by then – I'll have some freaking clue what to say to them."

"Of course, Honey," Joyce repeated gently, nodding her assent. "Whatever you need."

Joyce immediately got out of the car and went around to the driver's side window of Xander's car, where she somehow managed to politely convince Buffy's friends that now was not the right time for the explanations that they all craved; Buffy was simply too tired to face anyone at the moment, and just wanted to sleep for a while.

Inside the DeSoto, Buffy tried to wake Spike enough to make the hurried dash through the bright mid-morning sunshine into the shelter of the Summers' house.

"Come on, Sweetheart," she said softly. "We're home. Time to wake up."

He barely stirred – and Buffy was reminded of just how terribly exhausted he must be right now. She could barely bring herself to move, either – and she knew that what he had been through had been a far sight worse than what she had experienced.

On Spike's other side, Dawn began to wake up as well, yawning as she turned to face her sister.

"We're home?"

The relief was clear in her voice, which suddenly sounded so very young to Buffy's ears – and she felt a wave of regret for the trauma that her little sister had to have been through over the course of the last few days – witnessing the brutality that her sister had committed, being forced to flee her home in order to escape the Council, being held hostage in the hotel room…

Yeah. No wonder the poor kid was glad to be home.

Buffy knew the feeling, herself.

"Yeah, Dawnie," Buffy assured her with a smile that was warmer, softer, than any look she usually gave her little sister. "We're home. Can you go get the door open and make sure the curtains are drawn? We're gonna have to make a run for it."

Dawn complied, and within moments the Slayer and the vampire were safe within the cozy little house. Spike – who had not yet said a word since their arrival home, and had only moved enough to comply with Buffy's insistence that they go inside – immediately sank down on the sofa that had been his bed the night before, lying down and closing his eyes…ready to go back to sleep.

And Buffy remembered with sudden understanding – after all, this was the middle of the night for him.

Before he could drift back off to sleep, she crouched down beside him and shook his shoulder gently. "Spike -- Spike…"

"Mmm?" he granted her only a barely coherent mumble of question, raising his head slightly but not opening his eyes.

She leaned down close to whisper in his ear, "Wouldn't you rather go upstairs? There's actually room for two up there."

At that, the blonde vampire did open his eyes and looked at her uncertainly, a mixture of surprise, doubt, and mild amusement in his eyes as he replied in a voice that was husky with sleep, before closing his eyes and lowering his head again.

"Don't think I'm up for much besides actual sleeping at the moment, pet…"

"Me, either," Buffy shook her head, giving him a warm, if slightly shy, smile. "I think I could sleep for a week straight. But…" She hesitated, looking down for a moment before admitting softly, "… I'd much rather do it – next to you."

Spike did not move or respond for a long moment – before he slowly opened his eyes again to gaze into hers, rising up slowly to face her, his expression softening with a look of affection, mingled with a disbelief that was almost awed.

"Buffy," he began softly – and then found that the power of what he felt for her would not allow him to go on. He shook his head slowly, lowering his head to rest against hers, as she ran her hands gently over his shoulders, her eyes closed, her lips parted, as she fought back the impulse to claim his mouth with her kiss.

No matter how bad she wanted it, she knew – now was not the time.

"Will you come upstairs," she whispered, the words coming out slightly breathless, and full of a vulnerability that called out to her mate with the intensity of their connection. Her lips curved slightly in a playful smile as she added in a voice that was somehow suggestive and innocent at the same time, "and sleep with me?"

There was no way that he could have refused her.

He returned her soft smile, his eyes closed, nodding against her brow, before reaching out to take her arms and pull himself up to a sitting position – and then rising quickly from the couch completely. But in his haste and extreme nearness to his mate – he managed to nearly knock her over backwards in the process.

Buffy let out a little yelp of surprise – which turned into another musical laugh, as he quickly caught her and steadied her, drawing in closer to her as he did.

"Sorry, love," he murmured, his face inches from hers, unable to look away from her emerald gaze, shining with adoration for him.

"It's okay," she whispered back automatically, her eyes shifting between his eyes and his lips as she put her hands on his waist and slid even nearer to him, without realizing she was even doing it. "It's okay…" Her tone was terribly distracted, as her eyes finally chose the single focal point of his full, parted lips.

"Buffy," he whispered, his gaze following hers to her mouth.

They were both silent for a moment, before Buffy finally broke the silence with an urgent whisper.

"Upstairs," she replied, turning abruptly toward the stairs, clasping his hand in hers tightly and pulling him along with her.

Within moments, the pair had disappeared up the stairs.

Dawn walked slowly to the foot of the stairs, looking up them speculatively. "Do you think they even remember that we're here?" she asked teasingly, as her mother walked up beside her and put her arm around her.

"Probably not," Joyce replied, shaking her head. "I don't think they're aware of much at the moment, besides each other. They're gonna need some time to rest before they'll feel like – like processing everything."

Dawn pulled slightly away from her mother, giving her a dubious look. "Rest," she echoed skeptically. "Yeah. They're gonna get a lot of rest this morning!"

Joyce could not suppress the slight wince that crossed her face at the reminder of the very intense relationship her daughter was now involved in with yet another vampire.

"Don't remind me, Dawnie," she sighed wearily, turning away from the stairs and heading for the kitchen. "I'm very happily vacationing in Egypt at the moment – no need to make me leave."

Dawn frowned after her for a moment, puzzled. "Egypt? Huh?" She shrugged when her mother made no attempt to respond, casting glances between the very tempting staircase, and the kitchen door where her mother had disappeared for a moment – indecisive.

Finally, she cast one last furtive look to be sure that her mother was not returning yet, before putting her foot on the stairs.

"Dawn," her mother's stern voice called. "Maybe you should go watch television in the living room for a while."

Her tone left no room for argument.

With a sigh of resignation, Dawn turned and headed into the living room – marveling at the fact that even exhausted, even after the trauma and turmoil of the past few days, her sister and her vampire lover were ever ready to go at it again.

Kinda gross, actually, she thought as she sat down on the couch and picked up the remote control. Buffy having sex – ewww!

Five minutes later – she was fast asleep – a mere two minutes after the weary warriors in the bedroom upstairs.


	100. Chapter 100

Spike finally awakened late that evening – alone on Buffy's bed…and amazingly, still fully clothed. He sat up quickly, looking around the room for his mate, a vague sense of alarm building up in his stomach as a sick ache.

He knew in a part of his mind that it was over – they were safe now, and at home – but he still couldn't help the reaction of uncertainty that had become second nature to him over the course of the past few days, as his eyes scanned the room for Buffy, confirming that she was not there.

He had just decided to get up and go find her, when she suddenly appeared in the open doorway, blocking out the bright light from the hallway – much brighter than the single dim light that lit her room. She was holding a steaming mug in her hand that did not smell nearly as nice as the smiling girl who was carrying it.

It amazed him – and frightened him a bit, truth be told – how much better he felt just at the sight of her.

The traumatic memories of what the Slayer had done in her body were far from vanished from his mind – though the knowledge that the Slayer demon was bound for good, in combination with the sense of empowerment and strength that he had gained from his confrontation with his sire, went a long way towards taking most of the fear out of them.

Still, there were moments when his stomach gave an odd sort of involuntary lurch, in moments when he saw her and hadn't been expecting to – as if a subconscious part of him was still just the slightest bit afraid of her. But on the other hand, most of the time, the claim that bound them as mates made her presence a comfort to him, rather than a fear. Being separated from her was far more troubling to him than having her near.

It was the strangest, most contradictory state of emotions he had ever found himself in.

"Hey," she said softly. "You're awake."

"Am I?" he replied mildly, his lips quirking up in the hint of a teasing smile, as he visibly relaxed back against the headboard a bit. "I hadn't decided yet whether or not you were just a lovely dream."

Her smile softened at the romantic compliment, as she entered the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She turned to face him and moved slowly toward him, holding out the steaming cup. "Breakfast?" she offered softly.

He accepted the mug, balancing it carefully as he slid over across the bed to make room for her to sit down beside him. "Where's Mum and Bit?"

Buffy felt a warm rush of affection at the sound of the familiar, intimate reference to her family. "Sleeping. Again. Finally." She frowned slightly, rolling her eyes as she watched him down the contents of the mug as if it was medicine, and not a meal.

He had told her before how foul pig's blood tasted in comparison to the human blood he had been accustomed to. And that was another topic she'd rather not think about at the moment, she thought with a little grimace of distaste that he, thankfully, did not notice.

"Again?" he echoed by way of a question, meeting her eyes as he set the empty mug down on the bedside table.

"Yeah. They were awake in the kitchen when I got up – and apparently felt the relentless need to harass me."

" 'Bout what?" Spike asked innocently, trying to suppress his smirk at the tell-tale blush that colored her cheeks – making it all too obvious just exactly what the topic of Joyce's and Dawn's teasing had been.

Buffy opened her mouth to respond – before she noticed the sly look of amusement on his face. "Jerk," she muttered petulantly, swatting at his arm lightly. "What do you think? You! You and the nonexistent boinking that they think we indulged in after about forty-eight hours straight of fighting for our very lives."

"So – I take it you didn't ravish me in my sleep this morning, then?"

Buffy laughed softly as she edged in nearer to her mate, wrapping her arms around him and nestling her head in the crook of his neck to give him an affectionate kiss. "Not unless I did it in my sleep, too," she replied after a moment. "I think I was too tired this morning to do much of anything."

"Right, love, me too," he conceded quietly, resting his back against the headboard completely and raising his arms to return her embrace. "Still am, truth be told." He pulled her in closer to him, closing his eyes and simply enjoying the soft, warm nearness of her body to his, as he felt himself sliding back into sleep.

"Are you sure?" she whispered against his skin, barely audible even to his vampire hearing – and a moment later he felt her pulling slightly out of his embrace. He opened his eyes in surprise when he felt the gentle pressure of her lips on his – a very pleasant surprise, drawing him back from the edge of the sleep he had nearly drifted back into.

He immediately closed his eyes again, his hands moving slowly up and down her back as he surrendered to her kiss.

After a moment, Buffy drew back, slightly breathless, lowering her head to his shoulder to whisper against his throat – the soft vibrations of her words sending a tingling sensation through her claiming mark on his neck with the cherished words.

"I love you…"

His head tilted back slightly in invitation, as a quiet little moan of pleasure left his throat and he pulled her instinctively nearer to him, further aroused by the tenderly spoken words. "I love you, Buffy," he whispered with a deep, aching tenderness in his voice. "So much – I love you…"

Encouraged by his reaction, Buffy moved in closer to him, raising a hand to gently massage the spot just above her mark – and the vampire let out a needy moan of approval.

"I love you, Spike – I love you," Buffy repeated in a whisper against his skin. Her initially hesitant actions emboldened by his obvious desire, she pushed him down onto his back on the bed, sliding one leg over him to straddle him as she reached to unbutton the soft black shirt he was wearing, her lips meeting his again in an urgent kiss.

She felt his body beneath her respond to her touch, felt the fervency with which he returned her kiss – which was why it completely stunned her when he suddenly jerked back away from her, his hands pushing her gently but firmly away from him as he drew in a shaky gasp of air.

His hands against her were trembling.

"Spike? Sweetie?" she asked with concern, drawing back and forcing herself to focus on the uncertain, wide-eyed expression on his face, rather than her body's rampant need for him – rather than his need that she could still feel pressed against her.

He would not look at her, still drawing in ragged, shaky breaths. "I can't, Buffy – I can't," he admitted softly, bowing his head to press his forehead against her chest. "I'm sorry – I just – not yet – not – not like this…"

Buffy swallowed back her disappointment and hurt, leaning slowly down to kiss his temple in a whisper-soft, gentle brush of her lips against his skin – a silent gesture of tender acceptance and affection. It did make it easier for her to know that, despite his honest admission that he simply wasn't ready, he wasn't pulling away from her, wasn't in any way repulsed by her touch.

No – rather, he was clinging to her as if he was drowning, and she was his lifeline.

"It's okay," she whispered, rising up off of him and rolling to the side, though her hand at the back of his head guided him to turn with her, so that they were lying side by side on the bed, each cradled in the other's arms. "It's all right, Spike. I understand. It's okay."

"Right bloody ponce is what I am," he muttered against her, and she could hear the tears in his voice, feel the cool moisture as it soaked through her shirt. "Pathetic stupid git…"

"No," she insisted softly. "No, you're not. Spike – I did some terrible things to you – and you can argue that in a big way it wasn't really me – but it was this body that did those things to you, Spike. How can I possibly blame you…?"

"I'm your mate, Buffy," he cut in, his voice quiet but firm, as he raised his head to look her in the eye, his expression one of resignation and regret. "You didn't really – didn't really mean any harm…and it's bloody well over now…you shouldn't have to deal with this…"

"Yes," she argued emphatically, holding his gaze with a tender, reassuring smile. "That's exactly what I should have to do. What we both need to do is to 'deal with this', Spike. And if you don't necessarily feel like jumping right into bed with me again, five minutes after – after everything – that's completely understandable. I can wait, Spike. I can wait."

The uncertainty in his eyes softened into gratitude and love, as his crystal blue eyes welled with tears, and he lowered his head to rest against her breast again. "Thank you," he whispered, so soft that she could barely hear the words. "Thank you, Buffy."

"We're gonna fix this, Spike," she reassured him, running her fingers slowly through his hair in a soothing motion, as her mother's earlier words came back to her mind, "but we're gonna do it on your terms, Sweetheart. We're gonna take as much time as you need until we make this right, okay? In fact – if you don't want me to touch you…I won't…you just say the word, and I'll…"

"No," he objected, his voice quiet, hoarse with emotion, as his hands instinctively closed on her arms, holding her close to him. "No, I – I need you, Buffy. I – I need you to touch me…I just…just can't…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly, unable to find words.

"Okay," she agreed immediately. "Okay – whatever you need, Spike – whatever you need."

A soft knock on the bedroom door drew them out of the intensity of the moment, and Spike reluctantly released her, rolling over onto his side, facing away from the door, and pulling her blankets up over him, in order to appear to be asleep.

Apparently, he had no intention of facing whoever was at the door, with his face tear-streaked, and his emotions so close to the surface.

Buffy sighed as she sat up and got off the bed, calling softly, "Who is it?" as she approached the door.

If Dawn was just being nosy again…

"It's Mom, Buffy," Joyce's voice was a bit muffled through the wooden door. "I need to talk to you for a second."

"Be right back, Spike," she assured him softly, as she slipped out of the bedroom door and into the hallway, closing the door behind her again.

Spike just lay there in the bed and tried to compose his scattered emotions.

A few moments later, Buffy came back into the room, heaving a weary sigh as she lay back down on the bed behind him, wrapping her arm around him and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"Gotta get up, Sweetie," she informed him reluctantly. "Giles just called – he's back in town. And he's insisting that we meet right away. He says it's super important." She was quiet, waiting for him to respond – concerned when he said nothing.

"Spike?" she whispered hesitantly.

"He said 'it's super important'?"

The gentle mockery in his voice as he mimicked her words, clearly doubtful that such words could have come out of the mouth of her Watcher, took her by surprise – but filled her with a sense of relief, following the emotional breakdown they had just been through.

"Stupid vampire," she muttered playfully, her hand reaching down around him to lightly tickle his ribcage.

He laughed, pulling away from her with a playful growl of protest – before suddenly turning over quickly and pinning her hands to the bed, smiling down at her with warmth and affection in his laughing eyes.

She couldn't help but laugh too, squirming beneath him in a half-hearted attempt to escape his gently restraining hands.

Suddenly – she felt incredibly better.

Their laughter faded slowly into a sweet, comfortable silence, their locked eyes communicating more than words could have – before the blonde vampire slowly lowered his lips to hers, kissing her slowly, softly, and very thoroughly.

When he pulled back to allow her to breathe, looking her in the eyes again, Buffy gave him a tender smile, full of hope and relief – and an unspeakable amount of love.

"We're really gonna be okay – aren't we?" she realized in a soft, wondering sort of voice, her smile widening slowly with her rising hope.

Spike gazed at her for a long moment, returning her smile, before nodding slowly.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, his voice a bit surprised, but certain. "Yeah – we are."


	101. Chapter 101

"So, you two finally decided to come up for air?" Dawn smirked at the slightly disheveled blonde couple from her seat in the middle of the sofa, as they made their way down the stairs, still hand in hand, looking much better rested than they had been when they had gone upstairs.

And that fact alone should have disproven Dawn's little theory.

Still, she continued, "Finally! I've been sitting here trying to come up with a convincing story to tell Giles when he gets here, about where you two were – one that won't give him a heart attack and make me throw up at the same time…"

"Shut up," Buffy replied immediately, without any anger, the words obviously a second-nature sort of response to her sister's usual teasing. "And move your bony butt over," she ordered as an afterthought, as she and Spike reached the couch.

"What if I wanna sit right here?" Dawn objected with exaggerated indignation. "I'm already sitting here! You can't just make me move just because you feel like it – just because you two feel like getting all touchy feely in the middle of semi-public…"

"What do you think, Honey?" Buffy gave Spike a speculative look, pulling him a bit closer to her by the hand in a suggestive manner, while at the same time edging nearer to where her sister sat on the couch. "Think we can work around her?"

"What?" Dawn's eyes widened in disbelief, and she found herself unconsciously moving slightly away from her sister.

Spike shrugged, going along with Buffy's act, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "She's tiny – she'll barely even get in the way…"

Their hands still joined, they sat down very deliberately on either side of her – and judging by the looks they were giving each other, Dawn was suddenly afraid that they might very soon be doing much more than holding hands.

"Oh, Spike," Buffy sighed in a ridiculously breathy voice.

"Yes, love?" Spike's eyes were locked worshipfully on hers, as both of them leaned in closer to each other – right across Dawn's lap.

"All right!" Dawn objected finally in an outraged tone, pushing their joined hands apart and scrambling up from the sofa and away from the deranged lovers. "Fine! Take the whole couch! You guys are so gross!"

"Wow. She really is bloody fourteen years old, isn't she?" Spike observed dryly, looking after her for a moment as she flounced off toward the kitchen, where the busy sounds of Joyce's preparations for the meeting could be heard. "She seems so grown up sometimes – I'd nearly forgotten…"

"Yep," Buffy agreed as she shifted contentedly closer to him, snuggling up against him and making herself comfortable. "Just when you start to think she's really mature for her age – she shows you very clearly that she's obviously not…"

Dawn's head suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway through which she had just disappeared, as she retorted, "Yeah -- and you guys are just the perfect examples of adulthood and maturity in this particular situation! Right!" Without waiting for a response, she disappeared into the kitchen again.

Spike looked down at the couch beneath them – the prize won by their little game – before giving Buffy a little half-shrug and a smile. "Bit's got a point, love," he remarked.

"So what? Maturity's highly over-rated…" She pulled him closer to her, meeting his eyes with undisguised desire in her own, as she continued in a low, husky voice, "Long, slow kisses, on the other hand – absolutely everything they're cracked up to be…"

She leaned in closer to him, her lips falling gently on his, relishing a slow, tender kis before moving across to his cheek, and then slowly downward to his throat in a series of tender caresses of her warm mouth that made him draw in a sharp breath at the physical sensations her touch sent coursing through his body.

"Long, slow kisses…" he repeated, his arousal clear in his voice as he raised a hand to rest at the back of her neck, pulling her mouth nearer to the mark on his throat that was by now throbbing, aching for her attention. He was quiet for a moment before she heard him go on in nearly the same tone of voice, "…in – front of your Watcher…"

Buffy's head jerked up to stare at him in absolute horror. "Ewww!" she exclaimed. "Spike – I'd rather think of just about any mental image you can come up with than that one right about now!"

"Buffy…"

"I mean, really! You could have said just about any kinky, crazy thing, and I would probably have been into it – but why the heck did you have to bring Giles into it?" Her tone was incredulous – absolutely flabbergasted at his choice of words.

"Buffy…"

"I mean, come on, Spike – it doesn't get any un-sexier than Giles!"

The look of dismay on Spike's face as he glanced over her shoulder anxiously, before meeting her eyes again, finally clued Buffy in to the situation. "And – he just walked in the front door and is standing right behind us – right?"

"Uh…huh."

Buffy closed her eyes, feeling her face flame with embarrassment, as her mind instantly flashed back over every word she had spoken in the past few seconds – not to mention the lust-filled ho-bag routine she had carried out only moments before that...

Oh, well – there was nothing for it now but to face the music.

And that was something she was getting much better at than she had ever wanted to be.

She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself before turning around to face her Watcher – who looked every bit as uncomfortable as she felt – and perhaps just a bit offended, as well.

"Hi, Giles," she said in a small, hesitant voice, as she drew her eyes up to the older man's for just a moment – all she could manage before she had to look away.

"Hello, Buffy," he replied, as a matter of habit and propriety – though the silence that filled the room after that made it clear that it was a false sense of normality.

"Well, come on!" Buffy blurted out when the silence was suddenly too much to take. "It's not like you'd want me to think you were sexy! I just meant to say that..."

"Buffy, please," Giles cut her off urgently, his eyes widening with horror at the thought of the various atrocious things that could be about to come out of her mouth. "Please, I implore you – spare me the explanation, I am quite satisfied to know that you do not find me the slightest bit attractive – that I am still every bit the old and stuffy bore that you originally thought me to be…"

The mild sarcasm in his voice faded to something more serious as he continued softly, "As a matter of fact I'm here to discuss with you something of much greater importance…"

The shift in his tone brought about a shift in the mood, and suddenly Buffy found herself able to return his firm, arresting gaze, as she steeled herself for whatever he was about to reveal, not consciously aware of what Spike had just noticed – that she and Giles had just slipped into Watcher/Slayer mode, as opposed to the father/daughter mode that they so often fell into without even realizing that they did it at all.

"What is it?" Buffy asked, leaning back on the couch and nestling into Spike's arm around her instinctively, her eyes focused on her Watcher's face.

His frown at her unconscious action took her somewhat by surprise, as he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again – and finally, decided that what was on his mind, while not what he had come here to say, nevertheless had to be said.

"Buffy – I realize that this claim you are under may make you – behave in certain ways that you – well, that you might not ordinarily – however, I would be incredibly grateful if you would at least try to refrain from such behavior – at least while I'm forced to be within sight of you?"

Buffy frowned; she understood her Watcher's feelings about seeing her easy affection with Spike – it had to be very difficult for him as a Watcher to accept her closeness and easy trust of any vampire – but still, it bothered her to see the look of barely covered disgust on his face, as if by letting Spike touch her at all, she somehow became something low and dark and ugly.

He doesn't like me much, pet, Spike observed, an almost apologetic note to his mental voice.

And that lack of confidence in her mate's voice bothered Buffy just as much as Giles' reaction had. She retorted emphatically in her mate's mind, Well, he's just gonna have to get used to the idea, because…

"I've been doing some studying into possible ways of breaking the claim – without much success, I'm afraid," Giles was going on, oblivious to their mental conversation. "And I'm about to turn my attention rather to the – effects it might have on you to – to lose someone with whom you share such a bond."

The look of rising shock in her eyes made the Watcher look away, as he went on, "If – if there are to be no lasting repercussions for you by so doing – we may have no other choice, Buffy…"

"No other choice but to do what?" Joyce broke in as she walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held several coffee cups, a small pitcher of cream, and a freshly filled sugar bowl.

Dawn walked behind her, carrying a large plate of cookies in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other.

"Well," Giles immediately became nervous as the Summers matriarch entered the room. He remembered very well the telephone conversation they had had, in which she had made it very clear how she felt about Spike, and the way that Giles and the Scoobies had treated him. "What I mean to say is…"

The sudden surge of violent fury that Spike felt, coursing through his mate, as all at once, Buffy got what it was that Giles was suggesting, would have been utterly terrifying to him a mere day ago. Of course – a day ago, it would have been directed at him, and not at the man who had just suggested staking him as a solution to the "problem" of the claim he shared with Buffy.

Giles had spoken of his death as casually as he might have commented on the weather.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" the Slayer demanded, her voice low, and deadly calm, as her piercing eyes, darkened to jade, searched her Watcher's expression.

"Buffy – I know it's not what you want…the entire reason we set out to do this in the first place was to avoid it…but there may be no other way…"

"No other way to what?" Buffy cut him off sharply, and something in her voice kept the Watcher from attempting to answer the question. After a moment, Buffy continued, with all the authority of her calling in her voice, "I am failing to see what the problem is at this point, Giles. The Slayer demon is back under control – the Council issue is taken care of for the moment – so what exactly is it that you think we need to fix here?"

The Watcher stared at her for a long moment, apparently aghast at her words. "Buffy," he replied finally, shaking his head slightly, "you cannot possibly think that this – this forced relationship between you and a master vampire who has killed two Slayers before you, can possibly be an acceptable situation…"

"It's more than acceptable!" Buffy interrupted him angrily, leaning forward slightly in her seat. Spike's gentle hand at her shoulder, soothing and calming her, was all that kept her from jumping up and getting right in her Watcher's face. "It's my choice, Giles! Spike is my mate now – and I want him to be!"

"Buffy – you can't possibly mean that," Giles insisted, his expression horrified. "It's not your choice – it's the claim talking. You – you think you love him, because of the blood bond – but you don't, Buffy – and he may act as if he worships the ground you walk on – but again…it's only due to the claim."

The Watcher paused, his eyes downcast for a moment before he looked back up at her, his gaze earnest and piercing, and some part of her that was not consumed with fury at the very suggestion he was making recognized that his words were spoken out of concern for her well-being.

"He's a vampire, Buffy – that claim you have on him might keep him under control – but it doesn't change the facts of what he is…"

At that point, Buffy momentarily tuned out the rest of what her Watcher was saying, as she was too startled by the words he had just spoken to focus on anything else.

He doesn't know you let me claim you back, Spike spoke the words in her mind that she had been thinking already. He thinks I'm still under your control…thinks it's a one-sided claim…

How does he think we beat the Slayer? Buffy asked him, disbelieving that her Watcher was still so clueless as to all that had happened.

I suppose he hasn't had time to wonder – it's all been going so fast, love… Spike was quiet for a moment before adding softly, None of them have a clue – what all we had to do, love…I only told you, Mum and Bit about my idea, when I first came up with it in the mansion – none of the others have a bloody clue…about how we beat her – or – us…not a clue, love…

The hesitant, uncertain sound in his voice only served to make Buffy's mind up more firmly. She could tell by Spike's voice, as well as by the intense emotions she could feel coming from him through the claim – he was terribly nervous about how she would react to her friends' and Watcher's inevitable disapproval.

In spite of everything, he was still afraid that she was going to change her mind and reject him when faced with the outspoken opinions of her friends.

And she was determined to prove his fears wrong.

The knock on the front door, indicating the arrival of the rest of the Scoobie gang, coincided exactly with her next firm declaration in Spike's mind.

Well, it's about time they got one.


	102. Chapter 102

"Hey, Buffy," Xander's voice was inappropriately cheerful as he walked into the living room, followed closely by Willow and Anya – but the boy's smile quickly faded when he saw her sitting on the sofa, Spike's arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders as she glared angrily up at her Watcher.

"Okay – isn't there anything we can do about that?" he turned plaintively to Giles, his voice becoming a whine. " 'Cause if I have to look at that for one more second…"

"You could always leave," Spike suggested with a smirk from his seat beside Buffy, encouraged by the anger he felt from her at Xander's rather rude remarks. "Keep us both from getting ill."

Xander turned a surprisingly intense look of hatred on the blonde vampire, as he snarled, "Careful, Bloodbreath! As far as I'm concerned, Fangless, you're nothing but a tragic Dust Buster incident waiting to happen! So until you can actually bite back, you might wanna keep your mouth shut before I shut it for you!"

Spike scoffed quietly at his threat, a look of challenge in his icy blue eyes, momentarily flecked with gold, as he retorted in a chillingly calm voice, "I'd love to see you try it, Whelp."

Xander's eyes narrowed in anger and he moved toward the vampire without hesitation, despite the anxious protests from both Anya and Willow – who had already noticed the look of fury on Buffy's face that he had missed. The boy drew back his fist to strike the seated blonde – but his fist was stopped before it could land – before Spike could even begin to move to defend himself – by the Slayer's powerful grip on his wrist.

"Did you forget what happened the last time you tried to hurt my mate, Xander?" Buffy asked him coldly – and the deadly anger in her voice sent a shudder down Spike's spine as well as Xander's, despite the fact that he knew she was truly herself again – the Slayer demon was under control.

No – this particular brand of protective rage was pure Buffy Summers.

Xander stared at his best friend in disbelief, stunned into silence by her unexpected reaction. He had – incorrectly – assumed that once the Slayer demon was no longer controlling her, Buffy's urge to defend her vampire mate would vanish as well.

But apparently – that was not the case.

Xander tried to pull his hand away, and found to his alarm that Buffy would not release her hold on his wrist. She was not hurting him at all – yet – but there was no way in the world that he was going to be able to break her grip, no matter how hard he tried.

Her blazing emerald gaze bored into his with unyielding intensity – and Xander realized suddenly that she was still waiting for a response to her question. All he could manage was a weak shake of his head.

No – Xander had not forgotten.

"Then maybe you'd better think about not raising your hand to him again – okay?" The slayer spoke the words slowly in a voice of calm, cool steel.

Xander shook his head again to indicate that he would not – and Buffy finally released him. He immediately backpedaled away from her as quickly as he could, back to where Anya and Willow stood watching the scene.

"I thought they got rid of the psycho Slayer thing!" Xander's tone was almost accusing as he looked at the Watcher, and Willow's tearful, questioning gaze turned to Giles as well, the same thought obviously in her mind as well.

But Anya knew better.

Her eyes focused intently on Buffy, she answered softly before Giles could, "They did."

"Yeah, right!" Xander scoffed, giving his girlfriend a disgusted, dismissive look. "Did you completely miss the part where she just threatened me over the evil undead thing? Buffy wouldn't ever have done that – the Slayer on the other hand…"

"Would have torn your arm clean off and beaten you to death with it," Anya broke in matter-of-factly, her voice soft and even, her eyes never leaving those of the Slayer. "She wouldn't have cared one bit whether or not she hurt you – and she would have. Badly."

Xander was stunned to silence by those unexpected words, though he could not deny the truth of them. In fact – Anya's observation was sobering to them all. They had seen how truly dangerous the Slayer could be – and knew very well that what Buffy had just said and done was really next to nothing on the psycho-Slayer Richter scale.

Which left them with the question – what was behind Buffy's behavior?

"Then – it's the claim! She's really our Buffy, but she's under Spike's evil influence!" Xander guessed, pointing an accusing finger at the vampire, though he did not dare to actually move any closer to him again.

"Spike's not an evil influence!" Dawn interrupted in angry defense of her friend.

"Hey!" Spike objected. "I am so!"

Not…helping…Sweetheart…

Well, I am!

"Is there any way to break the claim? Now that the spell's been broken?" Willow asked hopefully, looking to Giles with the expectancy of a trusting child – and it was impossible to miss the relief in her voice at the knowledge that the spell she had cast was no longer in effect over her friend.

Buffy's eyes narrowed slowly in a mixture of anger at the suggestion of breaking the claim – and the reawakening of suspicions she had felt before, but had not had time to think about – until now.

"I'm looking into that," Giles replied, apparently oblivious to Buffy's reaction, and to her increased scrutiny of her friend. "But it does not appear that breaking the claim is going to be an option. It seems to me that our only option is to – well, to…"

"Break the vamp," Xander muttered, casting a dark look of triumph in Spike's direction, a mean smile coming across his face. "Wow, what a tough break. I'm really torn here. Wish we didn't have to…" His overly sincere tone broke off suddenly, and he shook his head, admitting flippantly, "Nope – sorry. Can't even begin to pull that off. What's the big deal, then? We dust the blonde menace, and all's well in Buffy-ville again. Right?"

"Um – Xander…" Willow interrupted him in a voice of quiet trepidation. "Maybe you shouldn't…"

"What?" the oblivious boy asked, glancing between the troubled faces of his best friend as his girlfriend. "Why shouldn't I say what we're all thinking?"

"Isn't that what you're always telling me not to do?" Anya muttered with exasperation, and no small resentment, in her voice.

"Because Buffy's obviously not very happy with your idea," Willow replied to his question, her eyes focused on the furious face of the Slayer, as she shook off Spike's arm – with surprising gentleness, considering her mood – and rose to her feet with an almost regal grace.

"That's the only reason you can think of why it might not be okay to dust my mate?" Buffy incredulous, quietly outraged words were directed at the redhead, as she shook her head in disbelief, taking in the expressions on the faces of her friends.

Only Anya – who had been Spike's ally since the beginning of this whole mess – had said nothing to indicate that she agreed with the idea of dusting Spike. All of the others seemed to be of the opinion that it was at the worst an unfortunate, but not particularly troubling, turn of events, and one that had to be carried out.

They all seemed intent, more than anything, on convincing Buffy of that fact.

And that was so not going to happen!

"Excuse me? Guys, he is sitting right here! How can you think for one second that it's okay to just…" Buffy's voice trailed off, and she shook her head again, utterly speechless with disgust at the incredible insensitivity of her friends. "How dare you even suggest it at all?" she went on finally. "He is my mate! That's eternal, guys! You are not going to touch him – and that's it. Final. No argument. That's. It."

"Buffy," Willow began hesitantly, her voice soft, patient and placating. "Maybe you should just – just listen to what Giles was trying to say. I know you don't want…"

"No," Buffy cut her off firmly, her piercing gaze holding the other girl's eyes firmly, until Willow found herself forced to look away. "No, you all need to listen. None of you have any idea what these last few days have been like – all the things that have happened…"

"Buffy," Giles interrupted gently, "claim or no claim, it's only natural that you would have developed a sort of -- affection, for Spike, after going through…"

"What part of 'you need to listen' is difficult for you, Giles?" Buffy snapped, glaring at him – and the sheer ferocity in her eyes was enough to silence the older man.

In fact – it pretty much silenced everyone.

"You all seem to think you've got it all figured out – that you know exactly what is best for me in this situation…" There was an accusing note to Buffy's voice as she made that statement, that didn't leave her voice, even when it softened to add with a sad little laugh, "You always have."

She paused, looking at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes as she declared, "But you don't. This is my life – my future – we're talking about here. I'm the Slayer – not any of you. And none of you have the first clue what that's like. So for once – I'm going to tell you what I need to do."

If it wouldn't have spoiled the intense drama of the moment – Spike would have stood up and cheered, he was so very proud of his girl. As it was, he just sat there quietly on the edge of the couch, the smirk on his face having become a wide, gleeful smile of triumph. His heart was filled with a sense of elation and triumph – and utter relief.

The Slayer had made her choice – and it was him.

"This whole stupid ritual – which was completely unnecessary from the start – was your idea, Giles," Buffy pointed out, her voice hard and unyielding, yet still calm and certain. "You were the one who was so sure we had to do something about Spike – even though it was pretty obvious that somebody had already done 'something' that made him pretty effectively harmless."

"That could change at any time…" Giles argued quietly, shaking his head and opening his mouth to say more.

"I'm still talking," Buffy cut him off, not pausing to allow him the chance to go on, before she continued, "So, without researching the ritual properly, without really knowing what I was getting into – I initiated the dominance claim. I did that. That was my first big mistake."

"But," she went on, her eyes narrowing slightly as they fell on her closest female friend, who suddenly found the Summers' living room carpet utterly fascinating, "I think the whole thing was doomed before I ever started the ritual. I think – I think that the whole set up was something entirely different than what I thought I was going into – wasn't it, Willow?"

The little redhead's wide, panicked green eyes shot up to Buffy's in alarm, and she shook her head emphatically. "What are you talking about, Buffy?" she asked in a timid, shaking voice. "How would I know…?"

"What did you do to the spell, Will?" Buffy asked simply, her voice quiet and matter-of-fact, but without anger or accusation. She had known the girl for a long time, and knew very well that there was something Willow was keeping from her – and it could only be about the spell.

In hindsight – her friend's guilty reactions throughout the whole sequence of events were now painfully obvious.

"What makes you think I did – I mean – just because the spell went wrong doesn't mean I did something to make it go wrong…spells go wrong all the time, and especially mine, so why would you think that I would…"

"The truth, Willow," Buffy pressed her firmly, stepping toward her and seeking her evasive gaze. Her voice softened as she added, "Please. I know you did something -- something that altered the dynamic of the whole ritual. I just want to know what – so we can know if there's anything else that could still go wrong, and come back to haunt us later."

Buffy's suggestion that there might still be negative consequences for her secret was the final push it took to get Willow to cave. For all her misguided confidence in her own ability to do magic and judgment as to what was best for those she loved – Willow did love her friends, and hated to think that any more harm might come to them because of her "tweaking" of the spell.

"I – I was only trying to help," she whispered, her voice trembling and tearful. "I just – wanted to be sure that you would win the fight, Buffy…"

"So you did alter the spell?" Giles' voice was aghast, his eyes wide and stunned in an expression of betrayal as he stared at the girl. "Willow – how could you take such a risk? And then not to tell us…why, there's no end to the terrible things that could have…"

"She's telling us now, Giles," Buffy cut him off with a pointed look, before returning her attention to her friend. "Please, Will – once we know just exactly what you changed, then Giles can look into it and be sure that there's nothing else that could still go wrong."

"It – it shouldn't have caused any trouble," Willow began to explain in a halting, hesitant voice, her eyes still downcast, her expression miserable. "The original spell said that the source of the warriors' power would be unleashed – it was meant for Spike…to turn off his chip…I had no idea that it was going to read 'warrior' to include you, too, Buffy, or I never would have…"

"Will."

The redhead cut off her instinctive ramble, taking a deep breath before she answered in a hurried release of words, "It was supposed to change things, so that Spike would be free to fight, but the spell would somehow turn his own power against him, and he would have to lose. I added a clause to the spell so that it said, 'let the source of the warriors' power be unleashed -- but let that power turn on the warrior -- and be his ultimate destruction'."


	103. Chapter 103

The room fell silent for a very long moment, as each of the assembled group gradually took in the weight of Willow's confession, with all of its troubling implications. Their reactions varied in severity and true comprehension of what it was that she had done, as each simply processed this new information and tried to decide just what exactly it meant.

Xander was the first to break the silence.

"So – I'm really having a hard time seeing what's so terrible about this," he admitted, his tone slightly challenging as he rose quickly to his best friend's defense. "Yeah, the spell backfired and it affected Buffy too, not just Spike – but it's broken now – right? And she was only trying to help…It's no big deal, really…"

"I was, Buffy," Willow hurriedly agreed, a desperate plea in her eyes as she sought her friend's face for the forgiveness and understanding she craved. "I was only trying to help – I know I messed up, but…"

"No big deal?" Buffy cut her off incredulously, still focused on Xander's words, her eyes narrowed and blazing with disbelieving fury. "My entire family was nearly murdered – by me! This thing got completely out of control, and it nearly destroyed everything and everyone that means anything to me – and you have the gall to say it was 'no big deal'?"

"Buffy – that's not really – what I meant…" Xander mumbled, his eyes downcast, suddenly painfully aware of how clumsy and insensitive his choice of words had been. "I'm just saying – Willow's your friend…and even if what she did had bad results, her intentions were good…so I just don't think it's the smartest thing in the world to take Spike's side over…"

"You are the one who is making this about sides, Xander."

Buffy's voice was quiet, still and calm, as she interrupted him again with a tone of quiet authority. "I didn't say anything about taking sides. We've all made some terrible mistakes over the past few days – and I have to point out that Spike's have been the least of them. But the situation is what it is, now – and there's no way to change it. I don't particularly want to change it. So if any of you can't deal with that – let me know now. So I can adjust to the fact that you will no longer be a part of my life."

Her stunning words, spoken so clearly and calmly, without hesitation, once again stilled the protests rising to the lips of her friends.

Finally, Giles dared to speak, his own voice soft and cautious. "In your understanding, Buffy – what exactly is the – the 'situation' that you are so reluctant to change? Because – I am certain that you surely cannot be referring to – to the trauma and suffering of the past few days."

Buffy was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast as she tried to gather her thoughts. "No," she agreed softly, shaking her head. "I'm not."

She hesitated, taking a deep breath as she tried to find the words to explain exactly what she was talking about. It was simple, really – just a matter of speaking the words to her Watcher, her friends, and revealing to them the feelings that were now so very clear to her – and to her mate.

Actually – she was amazed at how easy it seemed, now.

After a moment she looked up to meet her Watcher's eyes, determined and unyielding as she replied.

"Spike is my mate. There's an eternal blood bond between us – and I don't want it broken." She paused, allowing her friends mere moments to take in that bombshell before she went on, "He's – a part of this family now," she said softly, glancing behind and beside her at her mother and sister, as they moved in instinctively nearer to her and her mate, offering their silent support. "In human terms – you might say that we're married…and there's no possibility of divorce…"

Xander's eyes lit up momentarily with a malicious hope, and he opened his mouth to make a suggestion – but was immediately cut off again by his friend.

"…and if any one of you even suggests killing him again – you've just told me very clearly whether or not you want to continue to be a part of my life."

Xander's eyes widened in shock, but his lips quickly shut again, as he stared at her, reluctantly listening in silence as she went on.

"This whole idea was a bad one from the start. Spike couldn't have hurt anyone. The chip kept him from doing that – so it was just – cruel, and unnecessary, and just plain wrong to try and – and turn him into a slave…"

"Buffy, that was never my intention at all…" Giles interrupted, shaking his head, his eyes widened in dismay at her words.

"Then just what exactly was your intention, Giles?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anger and remorse, as she thought again of what they had tried to do to the blonde vampire. "To take his free will, and make it so that he could only do what I allowed him to do? To make him even more helpless than he had been before? What would you call it?"

For all his knowledge and study – the Watcher had no answer.

So the Slayer continued, unhindered. "But – it's not completely your fault," she conceded softly. "I agreed to it. No – I wanted to do it," she admitted, her voice softening with her guilt. "I – I liked the idea. So – I went into it, unprepared and not really having a clue what I was getting into. A dominance claim would have been bad enough – but with the changes you made to the spell, Willow – you placed us all in greater danger."

"I'm sorry," the little redhead whispered miserably, unable to meet her friend's eyes.

For the moment, Buffy ignored her. She was not particularly concerned at the moment with whether or not her friend felt remorse for her foolish actions. Those actions had been done, regardless – and right now, all she was worried about was the results.

"So – the spell affected both of us – me and Spike…it turned off his chip, giving him his power back – and it released the Slayer – who later tried to kill me…"

"But – the spell's broken now," Anya ventured hopefully, flinching slightly as she met Buffy's eyes, as if expecting a biting reproof, or worse, for interrupting the Slayer's tirade. "So – so all of its effects should be over and done with – right? The Slayer's bound and obviously not trying to kill you anymore – and the chip's up and functioning again, so…no more danger – right?"

At the dubious look Buffy gave her, the former vengeance demon hastened to clarify her words emphatically, "But still lots and lots of blame and – and condemnation and fault…we're all very guilty and deserving of vengeance, it's by no means all right – but – no one's – in danger of getting killed – or – or slain – right?"

Buffy had to suppress a small smile that actually rose to her lips at the girl's attempts to show beyond all doubt that she acknowledged the fact that the mistakes that had been made were by no means "no big deal" – she just wanted to make sure that they were out of the woods as far as any further magical consequences of Willow's botched spell.

But Buffy was really not so sure of that, either – all things considered.

"Yeah – see…there's the thing…" Spike began slowly and quietly, standing up behind Buffy and moving closer to her protectively, as if to shield her from her friends' reactions to the revelation he was about to make.

"Spike…"

"They've gotta know eventually, pet," he reminded her as she turned to face him with troubled eyes. "How long you planning on keeping it a bloody secret?" A soft little half-smile crossed his face as he gazed at her affectionately, before adding with a little smirk, "Besides – not sure how long I'm gonna be able to keep from smacking the Whelp around a bit – so you might wanna give the boy fair warning, yeah?"

Buffy's anxious expression was broken momentarily by a reluctant smile of amusement at his words, though it quickly faded, swallowed up in fear for him. She had absolutely no intention of allowing anyone to harm him, and she knew that now he was more than capable of defending himself – but still, she dreaded to think of how her friends would react to the news that Spike was no longer controllable, by the claim or the chip.

He turned abruptly to face her friends, when he realized that she was not going to be able to bring herself to make the announcement.

"Right, then – here it is…" he began resolutely, drawing in a deep breath before blurting out, "The chip's no longer functional. The spell is broken that was meant to free me from the chip – but it's still not working. So – apparently something else didn't quite go as planned with Red's mojo there."

The alarmed murmur of several voices rising at once followed a moment of stunned silence at his announcement, as each of the Scoobies seemed to instinctively move backward, away from the vampire.

"But – the bond is still in place – correct?" Giles guessed cautiously, his eyes intent and questioning on his Slayer's face. "The original wording of the spell said that the warrior's power would be freed, until the warrior was bound again by some other bond…"

"So – Spike's chip should have started working again once Buffy claimed him," Willow broke in, thinking aloud as she tried to process what had happened. "Except – it didn't. But – if the bond is still in place – then it's not a problem, right?"

"How did you bind Buffy's power?" Anya's quiet, tentative voice somehow pierced the din of the mingled voices of the others, and they quieted as the question reverberated in their minds. "The Slayer demon…what was the bond that brought her under control?"

Spike's lips formed a little grimace as he readied himself to answer this second question of the hour – one that he knew would meet with even less approval from the Scoobies than the revelation about his non-functioning chip.

Buffy's gentle hand on his arm stopped him before he could begin, as she met his eyes and shook her head slightly, with a rueful smile.

I've got this one, Sweetheart, she assured him. Let me tell them.

He searched her eyes for a moment, to convince himself that she was really prepared to do it – and then nodded slowly, stepping back as she stepped forward, facing her friends boldly.

"The -- the mating claim," she replied, the look in her eyes as she scanned the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn, daring any of them to protest. "Between me and Spike. I – I allowed Spike to return my claim – and – and equalize it. So – I'm every bit as bound by the claim as he is now. It was the only way to – to make him free to fight the Slayer, and complete the dominance ritual, and bring her back under control. That's what we did. Once the mating claim was completed, she took over again – Spike fought her – and forced her to submit to the dominance claim. So – she disappeared…but…Spike's chip didn't turn back on."

Giles' face grew increasingly pale as she went on, his eyes widening in alarm. He was the only one of the group, with the exception of Anya – who really saw no problem with the way things had turned out in the end – who had any understanding at all of vampire claims and their effects.

"So – what you're telling us is – Spike is no longer bound – by the claim or by the chip."

"Give the berk a biscuit," Spike muttered, turning away slightly, shaking his head in disgust.

No matter how badly he wanted to tear the lot of them to bits – as long as he was mated to Buffy, her friends were in no danger from him. And still, all they could focus on was the fact that he was no longer on a soddin' leash – never mind the fact that there was apparently still something not quite right with the spell Red had cast.

"That's right," Buffy replied, her tone firm and a bit defiant, as she crossed her arms over her chest, holding her Watcher's gaze. "And it's going to stay that way."

"Buffy – you can't mean to tell me that the fact that a master vampire – a renowned killer of your kind, no less – is free and mated to you – and that fact poses no problem for you? Doesn't bother you in the slightest?" Giles' tone was incredulous, and more than a little angry, when she stubbornly refused to respond, the look in her eyes telling him clearly that his words were correct. "Are you bloody daft, girl? To think for a single moment that…"

Spike immediately turned to face him again, advancing a few steps without thinking about it, pointing an accusing finger at the Watcher. "Hey! Don't bloody well speak to her like that, you…"

"One more step in this direction…" Giles cut him off coldly, his hand hovering near his pocket, where there was no doubt a stake secreted away for emergencies.

"If you touch that stake, Giles," Buffy interrupted softly, without moving from where she stood. "I'm gonna have to do something I'd really regret – but I won't let you hurt him." She paused, smiling softly, though her eyes were serious. "And I have a feeling, neither will he."

"Buffy," the Watcher's voice was imploring now, softened with his concern for the girl, though his eyes stayed fastened warily on the vampire facing him. "Think of your mother – your sister…"

"I am thinking of them, Giles," Buffy replied. "And I'm thinking that if it wasn't for Spike – I'd have killed them both." The quiet, intense ache in her voice was enough to sober and silence the group, who stood waiting as she went on. "I wanted to kill them – because they were standing between me and Spike. And he had to know – he knew that it was in his best interest to let me do what I wanted – that standing up to me – was only gonna get him hurt."

The Slayer swallowed back a sob, lowering her eyes for a moment, and when she looked back up at her Watcher, her face was tear-streaked. "But he stood up to me – he stood between me and my mother, and – and placed himself in danger in her place – put himself in a position so I'd hurt him instead of her. And – and I did hurt him…"

Her voice was barely over a whisper now, as she concluded softly, but with a firm conviction in her voice, "So don't try to tell me that my family is in any danger from Spike. He's the only reason they're alive right now. And if anyone thinks for one second that I would allow them to hurt him, after what he did for me and my family – they're in for a very unpleasant surprise."

"Buffy," Xander spoke up quietly, his voice trembling, pleading, his eyes wide and disbelieving as he took a step toward her. "Think about what you're doing here. This is a very important decision you're making…you can't just…"

"No. I can," Buffy corrected him firmly, her eyes blazing with authority as she turned to face him. "I've made my decision, Xander. I thought I was making that very clear." She paused, her arresting gaze sweeping the room once more, before addressing them all in a voice of soft certainty, "The only decision left to be made at this point – is yours."


	104. Chapter 104

The moment of intense, weighted silence that followed Buffy's calmly spoken ultimatum was, not surprisingly, shattered by Xander's trembling, furious voice of disbelief.

"I cannot believe that you are trying to make us choose between accepting that thing -- and losing you, Buffy! How can you possibly expect us to…"

"I'm just asking you to choose between being my friend or not being my friend, Xander," Buffy corrected him with surprising gentleness in her voice. "Spike really has nothing to do with it, as far as you're concerned. I've already made my decision – and he's in my life. Period. So now – I'm just leaving it up to you all to decide – whether or not that makes me a person that you want to have in your lives. Because you're certainly not going to change my mind."

"Buffy," Willow broke in softly, shaking her head in dismay, her voice strengthening as the conversation veered away from her own mistakes for the moment. "Of course we want you in our lives – just the way you are. We love you – but…are you sure that this is the best thing – for you -- to do?"

"Spike's a killer!" Xander accused the vampire emphatically, obviously impatient with Willow's gentle caution. "Why should we have to accept that? Buffy, how can you…"

"Xander…" Willow anxiously tried to hush him, traces of irritation in her face at the fact that the boy just didn't seem to get it. Yelling and accusations and demands were not going to even begin to convince Buffy to change her mind.

But Xander just couldn't see it. Even as Willow and Giles both tried to stop him, he went on with his rant, slowly building in force.

"No!" he cut her off. "I can't believe that you're saying these things, Buffy! I just can't believe…"

"Xander, would you shut up?"

Anya's sudden outburst, frustrated and desperate, and completely unexpected, silenced the tumult of rising voices in the room, as all eyes focused momentarily on her. She glanced around at the room with a slightly startled look in her eyes, as if only just realizing how loudly she had spoken, to bring the attention of the entire room in to focus on her. Her tone was slightly tentative, uncertain and self-conscious, as she went on without looking at her boyfriend.

"All I've heard for the past year and a half is you guys telling Buffy over and over, 'You're the Slayer, Buffy – that takes sacrifices; your personal life's gotta be set aside, Buffy – gotta save the world!' You keep reminding her that the fate of the world is her responsibility and only she has the power to save it – but then you keep trying to tell her how she should do that! Don't you think that maybe the decisions should be up to her once in a while?"

The room was silent for a moment, taking in what she had just said – and they had no valid argument to refute her words.

"Buffy just finished saying that she's making her own decision here," Anya continued, a bit more strength to her voice as she realized that she still had the attention of the group – and judging by the expressions on their faces, the full support of the Summers' clan, including Spike. "So obviously convincing her that it's the wrong one is not an option anymore, is it? She already told you your options, as far as she's concerned. Her – or not her. That's it. So – I think we'd better stop trying to convince her that she's wrong – and just choose…don't you?"

An air of dubious tension fell over the room as they all took in the ex-demon's simple and yet profound words. It really did come down to just that.

Buffy had already made her choice.

Could her friends live with it – or not?

"Of course it's you, Buffy." Giles was apparently the first to fully process the truth of Anya's words, and at any rate the first to respond. "It always will be, my dear. And of course as the Slayer, the final decision should usually rest with you. But with that said – the fact that you will always be very dear to me – to – to us -- and we will never willingly forsake you – does not mean that I will not voice to you my concerns. I would be failing in my duty to you if I did not."

"You voiced them," Buffy stated calmly, meeting his eyes with her own gaze of steel. She was still angry with her Watcher for getting them into this situation in the first place – but she could at least understand that at this point, his intentions were to protect her – however misguided those intentions might be. "I heard. I disagreed. I think that just about covers it, don't you?"

The Watcher did not respond, looking uneasily away from her piercing gaze. No one spoke for a long moment. It was increasingly clear with each word that passed between them that Buffy would not be easily persuaded to turn away from the blonde vampire at her side, no matter how hard they tried to convince her.

And for most of her friends, that was a very difficult fact to accept.

"I'm not gonna hurt anyone," Spike spoke up quietly after a moment, not quite meeting the eyes of any of them as he stepped up beside Buffy and slipped a supportive arm around her waist.

"Spike," Buffy gently interrupted him, turning her head in his direction but not looking at him. "You don't have to…"

"No, Buffy – can't exactly say they haven't got at least one valid point here," Spike admitted, his voice soft and calm, as his eyes scanned the little group, all eyeing him dubiously. "But – things have changed. And they need to know that."

Buffy was quiet, turning her eyes back to her friends, leaning slightly back against her vampire behind her in an almost imperceptible reassurance to him of her support, as she waited for him to speak his piece.

"I know I've done a lot of ugly things before – know it's gonna be hard for you all to get past that – but I haven't been doing those things for a while now – since – well, since before the bloody chip, truth be told," the blonde vampire admitted, his eyes downcast momentarily, his tone awkward and a bit self-conscious, as he admitted to the feelings he had held for the Slayer long before she ever knew about them, feelings he had not even admitted to Joyce or Dawn until after this whole affair had happened.

"I knew Buffy wouldn't like it," he continued quietly, "and – and that's something that's mattered to me – for a long time now." He paused for a moment, taking a few seconds to compose his thoughts and feelings before going on, "I can live on pig's blood, bloody disgusting as it may be…but I won't be feeding on people – won't be hurting anyone, so long as I'm her mate…"

"…which will be for the rest of our lives," Buffy pointed out, looking closely at her friends to gauge their reactions to Spike's words, as she reached her arm across her waist to join her hand with his, giving it a gentle, affectionate squeeze, grateful for the rather huge step he was making here.

"…exactly," he went on with a tone of firm resolve. "…and anyway, it's a very powerful bond between us – she'd know if I ever slipped up, and I don't think the Slayer in her'd allow her to just let it go -- so you lot don't have anything to worry about, yeah?"

Buffy frowned in surprise, looking up at him questioningly, before turning her eyes to Giles, and then to Anya, asking, "Is that true? I'd know if he were to eat someone?"

Giles grimaced slightly at the casual way she mentioned her mate's natural diet, but he nodded a bit grudgingly. "Yes. In most blood bonds – if there is a dominant party, they would be aware of the actions of the submissive party. And in a mating claim, where the partnership is equal – each would be aware of the other's actions, to a certain extent…"

"Yes," Anya agreed with a nod. "It's next to impossible for one mate to lie to another, actually. You don't know how many times I punished cheating male vampires who never even realized that their mate knew about their philandering. They never mentioned it to them – they just read their minds." She shrugged matter-of-factly as she backed up the Watcher's words.

"Well, then," Joyce spoke up finally, an expression of relief on her face as she stepped forward. "Spike can't eat people or cheat on my daughter. Looks like there's nothing left to worry about then, is there?"

None of the Scoobies quite verbalized agreement with her – though Anya was nodding rather expectantly at her words – but none of them argued with her statement, either. Their fears, their emphatic insistence that Buffy was making a terrible mistake, seemed less and less certain all the time, with every logical argument that the Slayer and her vampire managed to add to the mix.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Spike reminded them in a low, dubious voice, glancing at Willow – who tucked her head, her face flushing as the attention was returned to her botched spell. "There's still the matter of just exactly why this little knick knack in my head's not working. Not that I mind, you know – but just can't help but wonder…"

"…if the spell's really permanently broken," Buffy finished for him, her expression serious as she looked between the redhead and her Watcher. "Or if there's anything else about it that's gonna come back to haunt us in the end. Giles – is there any way we can find out for sure?"

The Watcher nodded with a weary sigh of acceptance as the former topic of conversation was abandoned for the moment. "I can look into it – study the spell further and see what I can learn. I'll do some research today, and let you know what I find out."

"All right," Buffy nodded, satisfied – before frowning thoughtfully, and casting a slightly apologetic look in her sister's direction. "And – there is one more thing that we might want to look into…"

Dawn's eyes widened as she realized what it was that Buffy was about to bring up, and she swallowed nervously, sitting down on the couch behind her sister as she waited for her to tell the others what they had discovered.

"You all saw how – at the mansion – the only one who could stop me, for some reason – was Dawn," Buffy began slowly, her gaze sweeping over all of them, but mostly focusing on her Watcher.

He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in a pensive expression, as he replied, "Yes – I remember…I thought it very strange, especially considering the fact that your mother did not seem to have the same ability – but we haven't exactly had time for research since then…"

"Right," Buffy agreed slowly. "But – every other time after that, that the Slayer started to get out of hand, and Dawn was right there – she was still able to stop it. And the Slayer kept saying really weird things about her…like – like she – wasn't real, or – or like she – she was somehow a threat to her claim over Spike…"

"She never had a claim over Spike," Giles frowned, a bit puzzled. "I thought you said that the mating claim is with you, and not the Slayer – and she never managed to complete the dominance claim."

"Right – but she kept trying to finish the original dominance claim – and she saw Dawn as a threat for some reason. Well – while I was – sharing a brain with her, I – I managed to learn a few things, once I managed to gain a little bit of control over it. And – and I think you need to go ahead and do that spell you were talking about – the one to reveal magic?"

"Wait a minute," Joyce broke in, her eyes wide as she moved around to face her daughter. "Are you saying that there's some sort of magic involved with Dawn? Like, maybe the spell's still affecting her somehow?"

"No," Buffy shook her head. "Not that spell. But – there's something – I don't know – there's something about her that just…"

"Doesn't fit," Dawn whispered, drawing the attention of the room from where she sat behind Buffy and Spike, her slight shoulders slumped, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her voice was small and scared and miserable as she went on, looking up at her sister through tear-filled eyes, "she said I – wasn't real. I was an – an illusion…"

"Dawnie, don't be silly, of course you're real!" Joyce objected immediately, sitting down on the couch beside her youngest daughter and putting her arms around her, looking up at Buffy with an expression that was half-accusing and half-pleading, begging her silently to lay to rest the fears she had awakened in Dawn's mind.

But Buffy would have to lay them to rest in her own mind first.

"We know she's real -- but – there has to be something – some reason why she was able to do the things she was able to do…and – and there's more, than what we've told you so far…"

Dawn raised her head suddenly from where she had rested it on her mother's shoulder, looking up sharply at her sister as she remembered the rest of what Buffy had silently told her in the motel room.

"She said – me and Buffy – we're somehow…connected…or the same…I don't know…I don't really get it…"

Dawn tried hard to put into words the communication of feeling that she had shared with her sister the night before – a difficult task indeed considering that at the time Buffy had not even put it into words. It had simply been a shared feeling – a sense of connection and same-ness that both had felt in the moment when Buffy had been in her sister's body, waiting to be returned to her own.

It was a difficult thing to describe.

"We just need you to do the spell, Giles," Buffy repeated quietly, turning back to face her Watcher. "We need to find out what she was talking about…what gave Dawn the power to – to subdue the Slayer – and to act as a connection between me and Spike…"

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "I'll need to look up the ritual…"

"Oooh! I know how!" Willow announced eagerly, wide eyes looking between the Slayer and the Watcher questioningly. "I can help…"

"No!" Buffy snapped, almost simultaneously with her Watcher's emphatic statement of the same word.

"Are you bloody daft, girl?" Spike demanded, incredulous. "Have you heard nothing that the Slayer's said this past hour? You – and the bloody mojo – do not mix!"

Willow almost physically flinched at the words, looking to Buffy desperately to refute them. "That's not what she said!" she insisted. "I'm good at magic! I have a natural talent for it! All I need is a little more practice…"

"…under proper guidance," Giles broke in severely. "Not on your own, Willow."

"But…"

"But nothing!" Buffy cut her off sharply, her voice trembling slightly with disbelieving anger, that her friend could still have so little understanding of her part in this whole fiasco. "I might not have said you don't need to do magic at all – but you certainly don't need to do it on your own! Giles is right – at the very least you need guidance, so that you're not practicing with innocent people's lives!"

Willow did flinch that time, taking an involuntary step back away from her friend. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone…"

"But you did, Willow!" Buffy reminded her, holding her gaze firmly and not allowing her to look away. "You did! You thought you knew what was best for me – for everybody – so you just changed what you felt like changing, without asking anybody for advice, without getting any help, or even asking me if I wanted you to do something to ensure that I'd win the fight – you just assumed that of course, what you thought was the right thing had to be the right thing – and you nearly got all of us killed!"

When Buffy finished, Willow's eyes were downcast, her lower lip trembling as tears streaked her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sometimes sorry doesn't mean much until you put actions to it," Buffy countered, her voice softer now, but no less certain. "You have to get it under control, Willow. You have to."

There was a long moment's silence before Willow finally nodded, sniffling back tears as she replied in a dejected whisper, "I know."

"I have an idea," Giles said after a moment, his tone cautious as he glanced between the quietly crying redhead and the Slayer, whose expression was gradually softening toward her. "A way that you might learn to control your power, Willow – learn the best way of handling it."

He paused, and when he went on, his voice had taken on that slightly authoritative note that indicated he was getting into lecture mode, "Magic is very dangerous – not something to be done unless you are certain that you know what you are doing…and I would have thought that you would have had better sense than to perform the spell any differently than precisely as it was written, without seeking expert advice first…"

"Yeah, well," Spike muttered with a little humorless half-smirk as he turned slightly away from the man, "I would have thought the Watcher'd have better sense than to let her."

"Excuse me?" Giles said sharply, turning away from Willow and glaring at the blonde vampire, fury flashing in his eyes.

"I think you heard him," Buffy said, her voice hardening slightly at the threatening sound in the older man's voice. "And he's right."

"I in no way advised Willow to make the changes she did to the spell…"

"But did you warn her not to change it?" Buffy countered, a challenge in her voice as she stepped toward him. "If she's such an amateur – and trust me, I believe that she is! – then how could you just assume that she would know better? Why didn't you help her do it, and be sure it was done right?"

"Buffy, I know you're the Slayer, but I hardly think it's your right to…"

"It is my right!" she insisted, her own eyes narrowing with anger as she took another step toward the older man, and he unconsciously stepped back with alarm. "I've saved the world and averted apocalypses at least three times now – and one of those times it took dying to do it! I've given and sacrificed and fought so that all of you could even be here right now, so don't you dare tell me I don't have the right!"

She paused, realizing that she was on the brink of losing her temper completely, taking a deliberate step back away from the suddenly very nervous Watcher, as she tried to bring her breathing – and her anger – back under control.

"No – I do have the right to tell each and every one of you just what I think of the horrible way you've handled this situation," she stated, her voice calm but emphatic as her fiery emerald eyes locked on the wide, startled eyes of her Watcher, and she added with a cool smile, "And now it's your turn to hear what I have to say!"


	105. Chapter 105

"Buffy," Giles began calmly, cautiously trying to intercept her rising tirade. "I understand that I have made mistakes in this situation – we all have, as you said – but it is hardly my fault that you completed the ritual incorrectly, or that Willow changed the spell on Spike's chip, or…"

"It's your fault that we decided to do it at all!" Buffy exploded – temper at the forefront again. She could not believe that her Watcher still could not face up to his own responsibility for the whole mess that had resulted from his idea. "You were so eager to do something to get Spike out of your house, that you let Willow do a spell that she wasn't prepared for, alone, when you are the only one here with enough experience to have helped her!"

"If she had simply done the spell as it was recorded in the book…" Giles insisted, more than a little defensive.

"It could still have gone wrong, because she's inexperienced and hasn't got the first clue what she's dealing with!"

"Hey!" Willow objected, indignantly looking between the two of them. "Standing right here!"

"I know," Buffy declared, eyes flashing a warning fire as she momentarily faced her friend. "That's why I'm saying all this – because you need to hear it, too!"

Just when Giles thought with relief that perhaps she had turned her attention back to Willow – the Slayer turned on him again, and he steeled himself for a fresh assault. "You should have helped her!" Buffy declared. "You should have made sure she knew what she was doing – knew how dangerous it could be and how important it was that she didn't change anything! But you didn't – because you couldn't take the time out of your busy schedule…"

The Watcher frowned, clearly startled by the scathing accusation in her voice. "I only wanted…"

"…to get Spike out of your bathroom," Buffy finished for him flatly, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised as she waited for him to deny her words – but not for long. "You just couldn't stand having to keep an eye on him – which, come to think of it, was kind of unnecessary anyway, considering that he couldn't have hurt us at all…"

"He could have found some way to…"

"Please, Giles. He was half-starved. Couldn't bite. Couldn't hit. Couldn't even defend himself, much less do anything to hurt us. He came to us for help -- and even though we treated him pretty much like garbage, we were still the only place he had to turn – so why in the world would he have tried to hurt us?" Buffy pointed out, a slightly derisive note to her voice, incredulous that her Watcher had not yet figured out so much.

As it was, the man was speechless, having no answer for her accusations.

"It was selfish," Buffy stated flatly, a look of regret in her shining green eyes that went beyond her own personal mistakes, to include the actions of the others that she had allowed, and thus silently agreed to. "I was selfish, too," she admitted softly. "I didn't – didn't think about – what I was actually doing. Spike annoyed me. I thought it would be fun to have him at my beck and call…"

She didn't dare look at her mate, and she didn't know whether to find it encouraging or frightening that she could feel no specific emotions carried to her through their bond as she spoke the painfully honest words.

"I thought it didn't matter," she went on, wincing slightly as she added, "I thought he wasn't a person. But – I was wrong…"

"No, Buffy – you weren't!" Giles took the opportunity to break in insistently, catching her gaze and holding it with an almost desperation in his own. His Slayer had strayed considerably from the path of what he had taught her, and he was desperate, to make her see reason again. "You weren't wrong – he's not a person, Buffy! He's a vampire! He…"

"If he's not a person – if he's so much more evil than any of us – then how come he was the only one in all of this who even once put himself on the line for any of the others? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I can't remember any of the rest of us doing much that wasn't centered on exactly what we wanted…and Spike…he risked his life…"

"But Buffy…" Xander broke in, annoyance clear in his voice, "…and you said correct you if you're wrong…" he reminded her cautiously.

"…and I'm not. So stop talking," she cut him off shortly, turning her attention back to Giles for a moment – before suddenly aiming a slightly unpleasant smile in her friend's direction. "I'm getting to you," she informed him coolly.

Xander felt an involuntary shiver of apprehension go down his spine at those words – and promptly shut up.

"No – I was wrong," Buffy continued. "And I want to say I have no one to blame for that but myself – except – there is someone else to blame," she informed her Watcher, her eyes narrowing in anger as she declared, "You."

The older man's eyes widened in indignant disbelief. "I beg your pardon?" he retorted incredulously.

"You're the one who told me everything I've ever believed about vampires," she explained. "You're the one who informed me that there's nothing human about them – no conscience – no real emotions. You told me that." She paused before adding calmly, "You were wrong."

"Buffy – it's been proven time and time again…"

"No, it's been assumed time and again," Buffy corrected him sharply. "Until Spike came along – and suddenly became the exception to what we thought was the rule! You said vampires are purely selfish, concerned only with their own desires – well, that one's not true, we've already covered that. He's saved Dawn's life several times during the past few days…"

Counting off on her fingers, the Slayer continued, "You said they can't feel – that's not true, either, because a nifty little side effect of this claim? I can feel what he's feeling, and…"

Buffy hesitated momentarily when she heard the soft, startled intake of breath from her mate beside her, felt his alarm at her words – and then went on firmly, deliberately, "…and you have no right to know exactly what that is – but I can tell you that what he's feeling is every bit as real as anything I've ever felt…"

She could feel it even as she spoke…his cautious uncertainty, hoping for her sake that she would be able to come through this encounter with all the relationships that meant so much to her intact – his own insecurity, that slight part of him that still wondered just how far her devotion to him would go – all intermingled with his deep concern for her feelings, his desire to make this whole thing as easy as possible on her…

"You told me they couldn't love," she finished, her voice softening with her affection for the vampire beside her, as she instinctively put her arm around his waist and pulled him closer to her. "But I can feel Spike's love for me – for my family – stronger than anything, Giles. Don't even try to tell me that it's not real."

The Watcher didn't try – it was clear that it would be a useless effort.

And after the Slayer's little speech – he wasn't even so sure that she was wrong, anymore.

"Buffy – I – I really don't know what to say…" he finally began, hesitant, a note of doubt now evident in his voice, as he suddenly seemed to find it difficult to meet her eyes. "I have never told you anything – that I have not – wholeheartedly believed to be…"

"I know you weren't trying to lie to me, Giles," Buffy went on after a moment, her voice a bit gentler, but still hard as granite in her determination to stick to her guns. "I know you believed every word you told me about vampires – every word the Council taught you -- I still trust you that much."

The relief in the Watcher's pale blue eyes was clearly visible, as he let out a deep sigh, looking down for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

"But you were wrong. They're wrong. And I don't know all the details – all the specifics – about vampires and demons and such – but I know it's not what the Council says." A soft, speculative smile came over her lips as she shrugged her shoulders and suggested, "Might be something for you to look into, you know? Considering the fact that neither one of us technically works for the Council anymore…"

The sudden look of interest that appeared in her Watcher's eyes made Buffy's smile widen slightly, as she added in a thoughtful tone, "Maybe it's time you stopped just accepting everything they told you – and find out for yourself what's true."

The Watcher looked away, his expression troubled and pensive, as for once, he stopped trying to think of an argument to persuade her to his point – and actually took a moment to consider hers.

The momentary silence, following the Slayer's softened tone, gave the others the impression that the storm had passed – that her anger had run its course.

It was a very false impression.

"And as for you," Buffy went on abruptly, her angry eyes blazing again, this time in the direction of her other best friend – the one she had not yet berated.

Xander Harris.

"What did I do?" he squeaked, taking an involuntary step back in the direction of his girlfriend. "Buffy – I didn't do any magic – I was against the whole thing from the start…"

"Only because you thought there was a chance I could lose, and Spike would have control of me!" Buffy pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest and taking another step toward him. "The thought of his being made basically a slave to us all never really bothered you at all! In fact – you were the most eager of all to start the kicking once he was down!"

"But Buffy – this is Spike we're talking about!" Xander protested – realizing the next instant what a mistake it was to attempt to use that tired old argument.

The Slayer's eyes narrowed furiously as she took another step toward him – and he ducked behind Anya with a decidedly unmanly sound that was suspiciously like a whimper.

Much to his surprise, his girlfriend pulled away, moving out from between Xander and Buffy, giving him a dubious look.

"Don't look at me to protect you!" she declared when he gave her a wide-eyed look of shock and betrayal. "You've known all along that I never approved of the way you've treated Spike – I mean – if it's okay to take away his free will and make him a slave and do all those things to him -- it must be okay to do them to me, too…right, Xander? I'm an ex-demon – he's a vampire – what's the difference?"

"Anya – Honey…" Xander shook his head, glancing with a slightly bewildered look between the angry, accusing faces of his girlfriend and his best friend. "No – you're human now! You're good! You…"

"Funny," Anya shrugged with a sad little smile. "I don't feel any different now than I did before I was human! So who's to say I'm any more 'good' than I was then?"

"Honey," Xander shook his head, his tone impatient and just a touch patronizing, as he tried to move past the confusing – and deeply troubling – question that his girlfriend was raising. "That's something we can talk about later – like – when Buffy's not ready to kill me?" The slightly warning edge to her voice was clearly intended to remind her that he was in need of her support at the moment – and she was not helping.

She didn't seem to care at the moment.

With a careless sort of shrug, her jaw set in a stubborn line born of months of pent up hurt and resentment, Anya declared easily, "Oh, no, Xander Harris! Don't count on me to help you talk your way out of this one! You're the one who's always telling me to shut up! 'You're talking too much, Anya – someone might start to think you're annoying' – 'No normal person says things like that, Anya – why don't you stop being so honest all the time?'"

She was building up steam as she reminded herself of her boyfriend's many offenses against her all-too-human emotions. She shrugged again, turning away from him as she finished, "You're the expert in human communication, apparently – why don't you just dig your own way out of this hole you've dug yourself into?"

Xander was absolutely stunned by Anya's unexpected revolt – she was usually so passive, simply quietly accepting his instruction as to how she should behave, what she should and should not say – but he had no time to consider the ramifications of her sudden shift in attitude, before the Slayer was immediately in his face again.

"Well, Xander?" Buffy smiled at him, but her eyes were angry and accusing, and determined to do all that was in her power to make her best friend face up to his own prejudices – prejudices that had nearly cost Spike his life, and might yet cost Xander his relationship with Anya, if something was not done very soon.

"Maybe you'd better grab a shovel."


	106. Chapter 106

"Okay, this is so not fair!" Xander objected in a shaky voice, backing away from his best friend, who at the moment appeared every bit the furious Slayer, and not at all like the fun-loving, pleasant girl he had come to know and love during the past few years. "I didn't even do anything, Buffy!"

"How can you still say that, after everything that's happened?" Dawn burst out angrily, stepping toward the young man she had once idolized, only restrained by her mother's firm hand on her arm. "After the way you've treated Spike?"

All that she could picture at the moment was her best friend, battered and bleeding and barely clinging to life, being carelessly dragged and dropped by Xander as he and Giles had taken him into the mansion.

Joyce could remember the same incident, and others like it, that proved how very wrong Xander was about his own level of guilt in the situation – but she knew that it would not help anything to have Dawn getting in the middle of the intensifying confrontation between Buffy and Xander.

And besides – Buffy seemed to have everything under control at the moment.

"And that's exactly the attitude that's gonna get your rear kicked all over this room, Xander," the Slayer replied to Xander's defense without missing a beat, her voice calm and even, smiling, though her eyes were still serious as she slowly advanced on him. "That 'I'm always right, couldn't possibly have done anything wrong' attitude. You know – you're my best friend – but right now I really wanna punch your stubborn, judgmental, pig-headed face in!"

Holding up a finger in the universal gesture for "wait", Xander continued backing away from Buffy, as the rest of the room swiftly moved backward, out of their path, as Buffy slowly backed her friend up toward the wall behind him, leaving him with no where else to go. She stared at him with an expectant, challenging sort of smile on her face, waiting for his response.

Of course, it was not long in coming.

"See – that's the kind of talk that can only lead to badness, because, the punching of the best friend? So not an acceptable means of communication, Buffy!" Xander babbled nervously, his voice cracking about halfway through the sentence as the Slayer's glimmering emerald eyes narrowed coolly on his.

"I don't know what exactly I've said or done to make you this mad, but I promise you whatever it is, I did for your own good, Buffy!" he insisted, his dark brown eyes wide and pleading. "I just don't want to see you taken in by his act! He's only gonna hurt you in the long run, Buffy, and I'm your best friend! Can you blame me if I don't wanna see that happen?"

Xander missed Anya's little huff of disbelief, rolling her eyes – but Buffy did not. It was quite clear that Xander's girlfriend felt his explanation of his motives was not quite accurate. She glanced at the former vengeance demon, before looking back at Xander, a dawning understanding in her eyes.

"You know," she said thoughtfully after a moment, regarding him coolly, "I think I may have misjudged you, Xander…"

He nodded hurriedly, jumping on the words that seemed to be a way out of the situation. "I agree with you Buffy, I'm sure you have, Buffy…this is all just one great big, mixed up misunder…"

"If anyone had asked me three days ago, who had the biggest, most unselfish heart of anyone I know – I would have probably said you, Xander," Buffy continued as if he hadn't even spoken, shaking her head slowly in a sort of sad disbelief. "Boy, was I wrong."

"Um…okay…maybe not so much with the complete agreement," Xander frowned, a sick feeling rising up in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with Buffy's threats of physical violence.

The thought that his friend had lost so much faith in him as a person was a sobering one indeed. He and Buffy and Willow had been friends for so long now, he could hardly stand to think that he could be losing Buffy's friendship now – and the cold, distant tone of her voice at the moment, the absolute disappointment expressed by her words, told him that that was a distinct possibility.

"Hey!" Willow spoke up indignantly – after an incredulous glance at Anya made it clear that she was not going to be the one to take up for her boyfriend. "That's not fair, Buffy! You know that Xander cares about you very much! There's no way that he meant anything but your good to come out of anything he's said or…"

"I know he cares, Will," Buffy cut her off, her voice soft, her eyes never leaving Xander's face. "Maybe – a little too much."

Both Xander and Anya visibly flinched at the words – and Buffy immediately knew that she was much more on target than she wanted to be.

"I think," she went on slowly, sort of figuring it out as she went along, "that you came across as so sweet and genuine and caring, that I always just kind of assumed that went along with a gentle, accepting heart – which obviously is not the case. And – I'm starting to wonder now – if I would have even seen that kindness and generosity – if I wasn't…" she shrugged as she continued, tears of fresh hurt welling in her eyes, "…blonde – or – or pretty, or – or whatever it is that makes you think that you want to be with…"

"Buffy, stop!" Xander interrupted, an almost anguished desperation in his voice as he glanced with panic between his friend facing him, and his girlfriend standing a few yards away – both with tears streaming down their faces. "Buffy – that's not true…" he objected. "I've never thought of you as anything but – but a friend. At least – not in a very long time…"

But his voice was weak, uncertain – and his eyes told a very different story.

Buffy did not even acknowledge his denial. Nearly everyone in the room knew how far from the truth it really was.

"I think," she went on softly, her eyes momentarily downcast, "that you've been using that – that opinion of you that I've held – that image of this kind, caring person – to get away with anything you feel like saying – even if it's the most cruel, hateful thing you can think of – to make it sound like you're trying to – to protect me…when what it's really about – is…keeping anyone else from being with me!"

"Buffy, no!" Xander objected, shaking his head, his eyes wide with horror. "No, that's not true! When have I…"

"Let's see," Buffy did not even hesitate, cutting him off immediately, her blazing eyes boring into his again as she went on, her voice trembling with hurt anger and accusation. "Try five minutes after Spike let me beat the crap out of him to save Dawn – having the nerve to suggest that we just stake him to 'take care of the problem' – now I wonder which 'problem' you were talking about!"

She began counting on her fingers as she went on, before anyone could interrupt her, "Taking every opportunity you've gotten to hit Spike, or threaten him, or insult him, ever since you found out he couldn't hit you back…or maybe it was since you found out that we had any sort of connection whatsoever…"

"Okay, Buffy…pot. Kettle. Look it up," Xander finally snapped, his own anger starting to rise at the accusations, many of which struck far too close for comfort to truths that he had not yet even admitted to himself – but could hardly find the words to deny. "Up until about two days ago, you were doing the exact same things to Spike, so I really don't see where you get off…"

"I'll admit – I already have, several times, actually – I've made some pretty bad mistakes, Xander," Buffy conceded, her voice softening slightly. "I haven't treated Spike right, either. And I'm going to be making up for that for a while. But that doesn't make the way you've treated him okay, just because I've messed up too! This is about you, Xander – and the way you try to keep any man out of my life that is not Xander Harris!"

In the silence that followed her words, Anya's quiet little sniffle was cleary audible, and Buffy looked at her for a moment, a sorrowful apology in her eyes – but she could not back down – not now. If she was honest with herself, she knew that Xander's unspoken, underlying feelings for her had been a problem in his relationship with Anya for some time already.

Better that they come out in the open and be dealt with now, than to be allowed to linger, festering, until maybe it's too late to do a bloody thing about it…

Spike's gentle words in her mind, his response to the things she had only thought, gave Buffy the courage to go on, when she might have backed down, to spare her friends any further pain.

"You're not with me, Xander," Buffy declared firmly, meeting her friend's eyes again – though he could not hold her gaze anymore. "You never have been – and yet – you're so possessive with me…it's – it's not healthy, Xander. You have a girlfriend."

She paused, glancing at Anya before going on gently, "A beautiful, intelligent girlfriend – who cares about you very much. And – and I know you care about her too. Are you gonna let some – some high school crush that's built up in your head into something it never was destroy that?"

Xander could not respond – could not look at either girl, his head bowed, his eyes downcast, as Buffy went on.

"You don't have the right to make choices about who I allow into my life, Xander. I do. No one else. All you have a choice about in this, is whether or not you still want to be friends with me once I've made my choice. And I have made it, Xander. And it's Spike." Buffy's voice was unyielding, leaving no room for argument.

Still – Xander managed to find some.

His voice was quiet, subdued – but much less confrontational now. "Buffy – he's a vampire. A soulless,.disgusting demon," he repeated stubbornly, and quite unnecessarily – and although his voice was calm, his anger was still visible in his dark eyes. "A killer, Buffy. And that can't change…"

"That's what I thought, too," Buffy nodded slowly, her eyes wide and serious as she sought her friend's gaze. "But now -- I know him. And I'm telling you as the Slayer – as Spike's mate -- that he has changed – he doesn't kill anymore."

Xander was quiet for a long moment, before answering softly, "I'm not so sure that matters, Buffy."

He was so caught up in the conversation with his friend, that he completely missed his girlfriend's flinch of shock at the statement, and the look of hurt, insecurity, and betrayal in her eyes as the words sank in, registering with her in all their implications for her, and their already severely wounded relationship.

Oblivious, Xander went on, "How can you expect me to just accept that – when three days ago you would have considered those things alone enough reason to just stake him without asking any questions? I can't just do that, Buffy – not that fast. Maybe not at all."

"I'm not asking you to, Xander," Buffy argued, her voice taking on a slightly pleading note as she met her friend's eyes earnestly, honestly longing to make him see where she was coming from. "I'm just asking you to try…"

"Buffy, I – I don't even know if I…if I can…"

"Well, I've said my piece, Xander," Buffy cut off his anxious, yet more subdued, ramblings, her voice still quiet and calm, but unyielding as stone. "And I can respect that. So – you just let me know when you figure that out."

Xander's eyes widened in shock at the subtle yet clear ultimatum of her words – and then his jaw set in stubborn anger, though there was still a bit of fear and uncertainty in his eyes, at the thought of cutting off a friendship that had lasted as long as theirs had.

"Fine," he bit off the words. "I will." He paused before adding, "If you're not willing to be any more reasonable about this than that -- I think that about covers it for now, doesn't it? I'm out of here. Come on, Ahn."

He started toward the door – then suddenly stopped, turning back to look hesitantly, yet expectantly, at his girlfriend – who had not moved once from where she stood near the wall.

"Come on," he repeated, a bit impatiently. "We need to…"

His words broke off abruptly when he caught sight of the look in her expressive green eyes.

"Anya?" he said, a questioning note to his hushed voice, as he turned around and headed toward her. "Ahn, Honey – you don't really think…"

As his hand reached out to touch hers, she suddenly jerked it away, as if his touch had burned her, staring up at him with a look of betrayal in her eyes.

"Anya," Xander whispered, his eyes widening in shock.

"Go on, Xander," she replied, her voice hardened, but trembling, as she met his eyes intently, her pain obvious in her own. "Like Buffy said – you have some things to think about – some decisions to make. Like – whether you can live with the fact that she's mated for life to a soulless demon who's killed thousands…but is trying to change. Or," her voice softened, her eyes dropped to the floor as she went on, "whether you can live with a possibly soulless, ex-demon who's killed more than that…but is – is trying so hard…"

Her voice broke over the words, and she lowered her head into her hands, turning slightly away from him, embarrassed by her raw, unrestrained emotions in the face of the man who had just injured them so badly.

"Ahn – Honey…" Xander protested, reaching out to take her arms and turn her back to face him.

She immediately pulled away from him, looking up abruptly to glare at him through tear-soaked, shimmering green eyes, as she finished as if he had not spoken at all, "…and last but not least…whether you wanna keep on carrying a torch for a woman who will never love you – who is essentially married to someone else…or…or whether you wanna love me."

"Anya – of course I…"

"Don't, Xander!" she insisted, her voice rising slightly with anger and determination. "Don't just – just say it – not until you're sure that you mean it!"

Xander stood there for a moment, meeting her penetrating gaze – until he had to look away.

And the unspoken words were far too clear.

At the moment – he really couldn't give her an honest answer.

Abruptly – most likely to prevent his girlfriend and the rest of the room from seeing his own emotions on full display – Xander turned and stalked out the door, into the night.

A somber silence fell over the room for a few moments, before Buffy turned away from the door to face her assembled friends – less one – again.

"Well – is anyone not clear on where I stand on the issue of me and Spike?"

No one spoke up, their silence an admission that they did indeed understand.

"Anyone not clear on exactly how I feel about their part in this mess?" she went on.

Again, the silence was all the response she needed.

"Good," she said softly, her serious green eyes looking up to meet her Watcher's blue ones as she quietly changed the subject.

"Now – there was something you came here to tell me?"


	107. Chapter 107

The mood in the room following Xander's abrupt departure was very much subdued, as each of them tried to come to terms with what had just happened. There was no doubt that they all knew exactly where the Slayer stood regarding her mate, and the entire situation, at this point.

Whether or not they were capable of dealing with that, remained to be seen – but all of those gathered in the Summers' living room were at least willing to give it a try – if only for the sake of their relationships with Buffy.

Some – with better motivations.

Giles tried to focus his thoughts enough to respond to the question that Buffy had just asked him. After all, he had come to the Summers' house with a specific intent in mind – one that did not involve the unexpected rant that his Slayer had proceeded to subject them all to.

"Yes – of course, well – I only meant to inform you of some – very vital information I have received concerning the Council, and…"

"I do not believe this!" Buffy exploded, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up momentarily in exasperation. "How can you even begin to trust the Council at all, after everything that's happened? I do not want their advice, or their help, or anything to do with them, ever again!"

"You may change your mind once you have heard what I have to say," the Watcher remarked calmly, eyebrows raised in speculation as he added in a soft, controlled voice, "That is – if you're finished, and I may now freely finish a sentence?"

Buffy lowered her eyes, feeling a bit embarrassed now by this last in her series of outbursts – though she did not regret a single one of them. She knew that she was right, and the things that she had said had needed to be said – many of them for a very long time. She only found herself hoping, now that her temper had been assuaged a bit, that her words had not been too much, too soon, for her friends to bear.

"Yes," she agreed cautiously. "Within certain limits. If you're about to say anything negative about Spike, or me and Spike being together – then I'd still really rather not hear it. But if it's anything else – feel free."

The Watcher let out a long, heavy sigh of relief, before beginning again quietly, "Thankfully, it has little to do with that particular topic. I do believe we've all had quite enough of it for one day, thank you. No, I think that, at least in part, it's something you may actually be pleased to hear."

"Well, won't that be nice for a change." The Slayer's sarcastically muttered words, and the disgusted roll of her eyes, revealed just how doubtful she was of the truth of her Watcher's words.

"The Council should no longer pose a problem for you, Buffy," Giles insisted, his expression and voice serious as he sought her gaze again. "From here on out – they should be functioning much as I have always believed that they should have – as your advisers – assistants – protectors – but not in any way attempting to exert power over you, Buffy…"

Her silence – the dubious expression on her face – made her disbelief and suspicion very clear – though she couldn't quite bring herself to voice it, now that some of the steam had gone out of her rant. Now that she was thinking a bit more calmly, she really did not want to give her Watcher any more verbal harassment than she already had.

Spike, on the other hand, never had had any problem with the art of verbal harassment.

"So – in the past twenty-four hours," he finally spoke up in a skeptical tone, after spending the duration of the conversation mostly keeping quiet, "the bloody Council of Wankers has completely changed into a completely different organization under totally different leadership and with completely different motivations for what they do? They've basically become a bloody new Council – is that what you're saying, Watcher?"

"Precisely," Giles replied quietly.

That got the attention of everyone in the room – especially the startled Slayer, and her disbelieving vampire mate – neither of whom had expected Spike's half-sarcastic assessment of the situation to actually be the truth.

"What -- are you saying – precisely?" Buffy asked finally in a slow, cautious voice, holding her Watcher's gaze warily. Then, after a moment's consideration, she added with new understanding, "Giles – what did you do?"

The Watcher looked away for a moment, before taking a deep breath and launching into his explanation.

"I've taken care of the problem, Buffy." He paused, before going on in a slow, cautious voice, "I used a – a combination of magic, and – and other resources that are at my disposal. I – I am not the only one in the Council who disagrees with the way Quentin Travers saw things."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up dubiously – but it was her mother who actually spoke up, stepping toward the Watcher, her arms crossing over her chest as she pointed out in a defiant tone, "I thought you were in support of Quentin Travers. You thought he 'only wanted to help' – until he blew up the mansion, thinking we were all in it!"

The expression of guilt and regret that went across Giles' face at those words almost made Joyce feel bad – but not quite – as the older man looked away again, his eyes downcast as he quietly explained.

"The fact that I did not think him capable of such a heinous crime – that I still believed that he had the best interests of the Slayer at heart – does not in any way mean that I agreed with him on every matter."

Giving them a moment to take that in, he raised his eyes, focusing them on Buffy's, though everyone left in the room was focused on him.

"I have felt for some time – since – well, at least since your eighteenth birthday, Buffy – that the way the Council handled the Slayer and their service to her, would have to be changed. It was at that time that I truly became aware of just how dangerously outdated and foolish many of their customs have been – and it was then that I began cautiously, subtlely, searching for signs that someone else in the Council might feel the same way I do."

"What about your eighteenth birthday?" Joyce frowned, addressing her question to Buffy – who avoided her gaze.

"The Cruciamentum," Spike answered softly, his eyes focused on the Watcher in a deadly cold glare. He knew exactly what Giles was talking about – knew much more than that about a Slayer's traditional rites of passage – but it had not occurred to him until that moment that Buffy had already been through the barbaric, and often tragic, ritual.

"What's the Cruci – the…what is that?" Dawn asked, a fearful look in her wide eyes as she looked between Buffy, Spike, and Giles, trying to understand what it was that was making them all look so troubled and upset.

"Yes, Buffy – what is that?" Joyce persisted.  
"We'll talk about that later," Buffy said firmly, keeping her gaze focused on Giles. "It's over and done. Right now there are more important things to talk about. Giles – you were saying you – looked for someone else who didn't support Travers – did you find someone, then?"

Giles nodded slowly, his expression serious. "I did. A fellow Watcher, who lost a Slayer, about ten years ago, due to – to the Council's – tests."

Buffy knew by the guilty expression on his face that the "tests" he was referring to were in fact one test – the Cruciamentum – but the Watcher knew better than to mention a Slayer's being killed by it, just now, when Buffy's family was so curious about that very thing.

She nodded slowly. "So – he took your side. What did you do?"

"Nothing, right away. We discussed what changes we felt should be made in the traditions of the Council, but there did not seem to be any way of making it actually come about – not anytime soon. But still – I knew that I had an ally on the Council, should there ever come the opportunity to do something to change things."

He was quiet for a moment before going on in a quiet, even voice, "Then – Travers tricked me – convinced me that he wanted to help you with this situation – and then had the mansion blown up – and I knew…"

"Knew – what…?" Joyce asked, her voice barely over a whisper, her expression stricken as she took in the sick, troubled expression on the Watcher's face.

Giles could not bring himself to answer for a long moment, before he finally replied in a low, barely controlled voice, "Travers had no intention of allowing Buffy to live." Above the soft, shocked reactions of those listening to his explanation, he continued, his voice rising slightly, "Even once the Slayer was brought back under control – once he had made an attempt on Buffy's life – there was no way that he could let her live – no reason for him to back down, given the extent of his resources, until he had done exactly what he had set out to do…"

"Eliminated the uncontrollable Slayer that he never really liked in the first place," Buffy finished for him, her voice low and grim, her eyes wide and focused on some point beyond Giles, as she tried to process once again how near she had come to death – not at the hands of a vampire or a demon, but at the hands of the very Council that was sworn to serve and protect her.

"Precisely," Giles agreed in a calm, controlled voice, not looking up at her as he added softly, "And that was when I knew – that whatever else happened in this situation with the Slayer – Travers could not be allowed to steer the Council any longer."

A moment of shocked silence followed his words, and Buffy frowned, shaking her head slightly in confusion. Before she could say a word, Joyce gasped softly, her eyes widening as she looked up at the Watcher with shock.

"You planned to…to…"

"Kill him," Spike interrupted, a dark satisfaction in his voice, a gleam of approval in his eyes as he nodded at the Watcher with a grim smile. "As any thinking man would have, knowing what a threat he was to Buffy." He waited until Giles met his eyes before adding with mild sarcasm, "You've just about earned your way off my list of people deserving to be eaten, if I ever…"

Spike never really remembered afterwards if it was his sudden remembrance, or Buffy's sharp elbow to his ribs that silenced him then, as he suddenly recalled the fact that the chip no longer controlled him. He had become so accustomed to not being able to kill, to fight at all, that it seemed second nature to speak of "if he ever got the chip out", even now.

But the chip was out.

And although Buffy knew that her Watcher already knew that, she hardly thought it wise or appropriate for Spike to be talking about his recent desire to eat him – even if he was partly joking.

She quickly steered the conversation back on topic, as a frown of confusion creased her brow. "But – you didn't kill Travers. Spike did – when he was about to shoot me…"

"Yes," Giles conceded, nodding slowly, not quite meeting her eyes. "Quite convenient for all concerned – wasn't it?"

As understanding dawned on Buffy, her eyes widened – and she wasn't sure which she felt more – chilled and troubled by the darkness that she had never really realized was such a part of her Watcher's make-up…or grateful and filled with a warmth of affection for him, for how far he had been willing to go to protect her.

"So -- what happens now?" Joyce asked quietly, her own voice gentled as she addressed Giles, her own gratitude shining in her eyes. She knew that she would have done no less than Spike had done, or than Giles had planned to do, if placed in their positions -- but it filled her heart with a sense of warmth and security -- and forgiveness -- to be reminded of just how much the man cared for her daughter.

"Yeah -- Travers is dead -- but that doesn't mean it's over," Buffy realized aloud, giving Giles an anxiously questioning look. "I mean -- the Council will send people looking for him -- won't they? They'll -- they won't just take this lying down. They'll retaliate."

"Only if they are aware that there is something that requires retaliation," Giles pointed out, a dark glimmer rising in his eyes as he smiled slightly. "Of which they will not be. That has already been taken care of, my dear."

"How?" Buffy frowned, not understanding at all. "I know that Travers and the two that he brought with him – but how could you possibly have gotten the rest of the Council off our backs?"

"Again, Buffy – with a bit of magic, and a bit of underhanded deception," Giles replied, a small smile on his lips, though his eyes were intent and serious. "My associate at the Council is, fortunately, one whom Travers held in close confidence. As soon as I knew what Travers had tried to do at the mansion, I contacted him immediately, and we concocted a plan. I – told him what I believed needed to be done…"

"And he just – went for it?" Buffy's voice was skeptical, her wide eyes doubtful and unsure as they searched his. "Just accepted that it was the best thing to kill the head of the Watcher's Council?"

Giles hesitated a moment, before reminding her softly, "Travers had already cost my associate's Slayer her life. He was more than willing to assist me in making sure he didn't do the same to mi – to you, Buffy."

She was quiet for a moment, nodding slowly in acceptance as he went on.

"My associate drew up a document, and quite expertly forged Travers' signature to it, declaring that if anything should happen to him, he wished his successor to be none other than my associate, and left it in a sealed envelope on his desk, with a note to open it if he had not returned by this morning. He also – using magic, so as not to have his efforts detected – removed certain necessities from Travers' possessions, so as to make it appear that he had intentionally left the country for longer than the length of time he had previously told the Council."

"So – you made it look like he skipped out, then – but why would the wanker take off? The others wouldn't believe that – not with the position he had on the Council..." Spike objected, puzzled.

"Well – my friend also forged certain documents which he 'accidentally' found – implicating Travers in various illegal activities…true, it's caused quite a stir in the Council that will last for some time – but hard, factual evidence doesn't lie," Giles answered with a secretive smile.

A slow smile spread across Buffy's face as she realized what he had done. "So – you faked his disappearance – gave him a reason and everything – and set the person in his place that's right for the job…"

"But what about the two men who were with him?" Joyce asked, frowning with concern, an expression in her eyes that said she was almost sure she was going to regret asking.

"I left them alive," Giles assured her, his voice soft. "Let the one in the desert go, with instructions not to return to the Council – and then went back to the hotel and released the other one, did the same…" He paused, before admitting quietly, though his eyes glinted with wicked amusement, "…but not before performing a bit of a forgetting spell – blocking the events of the past few days from their mind, and – er -- suggesting -- the ideas that my associate and I had led the rest of the Council to believe were true."

"So – the Council has completely changed overnight, then," Buffy concluded, with a sigh of relief. "They're really not gonna be giving us any trouble, anymore, are they?"

"No," Giles assured her, shaking his head. "Not with my friend in power there. In time, he should be able to return them to performing their actual purpose."

"Wow – that's incredible!" Buffy exulted, growing more excited as the impact of the news sank in. "You know, that almost makes up for all the stupid things you've done the past few days, Giles!" The teasing note in her voice was tempered by the steely look in her eyes, making in clear that she was only partly joking.

"Er – good – I think," Giles replied, a bit uncomfortably. "But – Buffy – that's not all I had to tell you…"

"Is the rest as good as your last news, because if it is, you just might break even," she smirked.

"Well – I'm really not sure if it's – good or bad, Buffy," the Watcher began hesitantly. "But it – it concerns one of the mysteries of this whole solution – with perhaps – some answers? But – perhaps it would be better if we – discussed this privately?"

He only glanced at Dawn for the barest fraction of an instant – but the girl did not miss it.

Immediately she moved forward, her wide eyes intently searching the Watcher's expression, almost desperately. "It's about me, isn't it?" she asked, her voice trembling with apprehension. "About why I could do the things I could? About why the Slayer said I – wasn't real? You can't not tell me about this! I have to know!"

"Dawn – dear," Giles began gently, his expression sad and apologetic, "I believe it might be wiser…"

"No!" Dawn insisted. "Mom!" she turned to her mother desperately. "You have to let me stay! I have to know!"

"Go ahead, Giles," Buffy said suddenly, stepping back and putting her free arm around her sister's waist, an intense strength in her eyes as she squared her shoulders and prepared herself for his revelation. "She deserves to know the truth, too." She paused, looking at her mate beside her, and her sister on the other side, and then to her mother who stood protectively hovering behind them.

"We're a family," she stated firmly. "And I don't care what it is you have to say – whatever it is – we'll deal with it together."


	108. Chapter 108

"Just say it."

Dawn's high, young voice was trembling and fearful, as she stared at the Watcher through wide, tearful eyes. "Just tell me what – what's happened to me. Why I could – what I am."

"You're human, Dawn."

Giles answered her gently, honestly, his expression softening with compassion for the confused, frightened girl, who at the moment looked so lost, so vulnerable and innocent. He realized very suddenly that regardless of her origins, she felt like his very own, every bit as much as Buffy did – and he would do everything in his power to keep any further harm from coming to her…physically or emotionally.

"You're human – and you are real – and you do, without a doubt, belong with this family," the Watcher continued softly, but emphatically, holding the teenager's gaze and willing her to see the truth of his words.

Because whatever else Dawn Summers was – he knew that she was without a doubt all of the things he had just said that she was.

To his relief, she did visibly relax a bit, but her eyes were troubled as she waited anxiously for his further explanation.

"My associate informed me of some recent developments that the Council has just become aware of – regarding the threat of an impending apocalypse – and – and some specific information as to who – I mean, how…er, that is…"

"Spit it out, Giles," Buffy snapped, though it was clear in her eyes that her sharp tone was more due to fear than actual irritation with the man. "Apocalypse – big whoop. Happens all the time around here. What does it have to do with Dawn?"

Four intent pairs of eyes were focused on the Watcher, waiting urgently for him to go on – one with fear and apprehension, and the other three with a clear determination to protect the youngest member of their very unique little family.

Giles took a deep breath, steeling himself before continuing in a quiet, even voice. "Word has reached the Council of a – a creature, who seeks to – well, in short – it seeks to tear down the dimensional walls between this and all other dimensions. If this being is successful – it would effectively – end reality as we know it. All of the dimensions would bleed into one another, until all would eventually be swallowed up in chaos…"

"End of the World Special, take five hundred and two," Buffy muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes and looking away in disgust and anger.

"Why?" Spike asked, frowning thoughtfully. "I mean – what's this bugger get out of it?"

When the others all gave him rather strange looks, he became a bit defensive, taking a step back and looking at them all as he protested, "What? Just 'cause a thing's a demon, doesn't mean it hasn't got a purpose -- some reason for what it's doing. Not all demons are all about the bloody random destruction, you know!"

Willow finally ventured to speak up, after wisely keeping silence since Buffy's attention had been diverted from her and her mistakes. "Oh, right!" she muttered doubtfully, apparently grateful to have something else to focus the Slayer's disapproval on, "and in our experience, we've come across so many demons that are deeply thoughtful, introspective individuals. No, mostly, they are about the random destruction, I'm thinking…"

"Actually, that's not really true," Anya interjected matter-of-factly, her voice calm, though her eyes were still sad and moist with her recent tears. "Most actually do have some kind of purpose to the things they do – even if that purpose is as simple as, say, 'See the nummy human – eat the nummy human,' or of course vengeance…"

She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious as she realized how she had just served to remind the Slayer of her own history, as she finished quietly, "I'm just saying…"

"There's always a reason," Spike concluded for her, nodding grimly.

"Always?" Buffy echoed questioningly, deep emerald eyes suddenly fastened on his intently – as her mind flew back in time a couple of years, back to the time when Angelus had attempted to end the world…and she found herself wondering what could possibly have motivated him to such destruction.

Was loving me really all that terrible? she wondered with a pang of remembered hurt and insecurity.

But the sudden wave of warmth that enveloped her from her mate's emotions, the love and reassurance she felt through her connection with Spike, reminded her of another factor in that years-old equation – the blonde vampire who had gone out of his way, risked his own safety, to help her prevent the destruction of the world – all because he had liked this world, had not wanted to see it ended.

At least – that was the only reason he had given her at the time.

"Always," he affirmed softly, his expression revealing that he had a fairly good idea of what she was thinking about at the moment – and the momentarily shy glance away from her before he met her eyes again let her know that she was not far off in her speculative musings.

A sort of awe came over her with the realization, confirmed by Spike's thoughts – even way back then, there had already been something between them – he had felt something for her, even if he had not quite recognized it yet.

"Yes, well – I can see how that sort of information would be very useful," Joyce inserted, and the slightly nervous, uncomfortable tremor in her voice broke the hypnotic connection that had been slowly building between the Slayer and her mate, as they both looked self-consciously away from each other, suddenly very much aware of the intensity of the moment that had been developing.

"Even if it's a very simple motive," Joyce went on, looking around the room at the others for confirmation of her words, "it's got to be good to know what's driving our enemy – right? That can only be a good thing."

"Quite right," Giles agreed. "And in this case, this creature – known only as 'the Beast' to the Council thus far – it seems that its primary motivation is – well – to return to its own dimension. It's somehow been trapped here – banished, in fact – and simply wants – well – to go home."

"Yeah – and sod the rest of us, yeah?" Spike muttered, shaking his head with a sneer. "Tear the rest of the bloody universe to bits – just so long as the bleedin' wanker gets home…"

"But – I don't understand," Buffy frowned with confusion, looking to Giles again for explanation. "If opening the dimensions will destroy all the dimensions – what good does it do this thing to do that, anyway?"

"Its natural realm was an unspeakably horrible hell dimension, over which it was ruler – so I would assume that whatever changes are made to its dimension by the opening of the portal and the merging of the dimensions could only be improvements," Giles mused, a note of ironic amusement in his voice, that nevertheless left the apprehension in his eyes untouched.

"Whereas our dimension, on the other hand," Spike added thoughtfully, "wouldn't be nearly as bloody likely to withstand the changes."

"Not at all," Giles agreed, shaking his head grimly. "Whereas powerful creatures such as the Beast might be able to survive the changes with little trouble – it is almost certain that if all known dimensions, and then some, were to merge – human life would not be long in reaching extinction."

There was a moment of heavy silence as they all took in the sobering impact of those words.

"Okay – so we stop it. Avert the apocalypse – again," Buffy stated in a steely voice that all of them recognized as her Slayer-voice. "But that still doesn't answer the original question…"

"What's all this got to do with the Nibblet?" Spike frowned, the dark look in his eyes making it clear that Dawn's safety was his greatest concern at the moment.

The trapped, uncomfortable expression on the Watcher's face made Buffy feel more than a little sick, with the realization that whatever her sister's connection with the impending apocalypse, it was not something that would be the least bit good for her – or at all easy for her family to hear.

"It seems," Giles went on quietly, his eyes focused downward, not quite meeting anyone else's gaze, "that in order to open the portal necessary to return to its world – the beast needs something known as the Key. The Council has no knowledge at this point of how it is to be used – what the Beast would need to do to open the portal, exactly…but the Key is absolutely vital to the Beast's plan."

Buffy was finding Giles' behavior more than a little confuising – and frustrating. Every time she thought he was ready to get to Dawn's part in the whole affair, he'd go back into the whole "Beast and Key" business. A part of her wanted to interrupt and just demand that he get back onto the very important topic of her little sister – but in all honesty, the rest of her was bordering on terrified to hear what he would have to say on that subject…so she simply went with the subject he had brought up instead.

"Does it have this – key? Right now?" she asked, frowning in concern as she allowed herself to consider what he was saying. As worried as she was for Dawn, if this impending apocalypse was already too far progressed to be stopped, they might have bigger problems to worry about at the moment.

"No," Giles assured her firmly, a strange look on his face. "The Key is – in a safe place. As it turns out, the group of monks who were protecting the Key have changed its form – to better hide it – they made it into – well – they made it…"

"What, Giles?" Buffy pressed him, her voice trembling uneasily.

"Human," Giles finally blurted out, still not looking at her. "They made it human – and they sent her to someone they knew would protect her…"

Her?" Buffy echoed weakly, her mind already comprehending what Giles was getting at, but refusing to accept it just at the moment.

It was simply too much to comprehend.

But Dawn was already comprehending what he was saying. She stared at the Watcher for a long, silent moment, her eyes wide and stricken with fear, before she whispered, "It's me. I'm the Key – aren't I?"

"Dawnie, don't be silly!" Joyce objected shakily, but her eyes were wide with alarm. "You're my daughter. You've always been my daughter! You're certainly not some – some key, that's just been recently made human! It's impossible! Isn't it, Mr. Giles?" The tone of her voice made it clear that she was looking for confirmation of her hopes – but the expression on the Watcher's face told her even before he spoke that she was not going to find it with him.

"Joyce – I'm afraid – well – Dawn is right. She is the Key," he admitted finally, softly, looking immediately to Buffy with apprehension to gauge her reaction to the disturbing revelation he had just made.

"But – how is that possible?" she asked, her voice barely over a whisper as she instinctively moved closer to her little sister, in an unconsciously protective manner. "Dawn grew up in this house, with me. I remember when she was born…"

"You only think you do, Buffy," Giles gently corrected her. "It's a part of the protection of the key – that we all remember Dawn as if she has been here all along, when in reality, she's only been…"

His words suddenly broke off, as if he had just realized that he was probably about to say too much – too much for the teenage girl and her family to accept at the moment.

But it was too late – it was already said.

"Been here – how long?" Dawn finished for him, adding her tremulous question onto the end. When he refused to meet her eyes, did not answer her, the girl took a step toward him, her voice trembling with confusion, fear, and an underlying sense of rage, as she repeated almost defiantly, "How -- long?"

There was a moment's silence before Giles replied with resignation, aware that he was not going to get out of this situation without revealing the whole of what he knew about the girl's origins.

"Two months."

"Two months?" Joyce echoed incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief. "No – that can't be. It's just not possible…"

"You must remember, your memories have been altered, Joyce," Giles reminded her quietly,his voice low and patient as he added, "All of our memories have been altered in order to fit Dawn's existence into our worlds…"

"So – you lied to me," Dawn suddenly blurted out, flatly, glaring coldly at the stunned older man through the tears that streaked her face. Her voice was hard, yet trembling and vulnerable as she clarified, "When you said that I belonged here – when you said I was human – you lied. I'm not – am I?"

"No!" the Watcher objected, horrified, an urgency in his voice that was clearly more about the protection of the child's obviously vulnerable feelings than it was about his own honor and honesty. "No, Dawn – you must understand – you are human – and you do belong here – you are every bit as much a part of this family…"

"But she's more than that," Buffy interrupted suddenly, as realization struck her, her eyes widening as she went on softly, "Isn't she? She's – she's a part of me -- right?"

"Buffy?" Dawn spoke her sister's name as a question, her voice uncertain as she looked hopefully up at her. Being a part of her sister – while not quite as good as being just who and what she had always believed herself to be – was certainly better than being nothing more than a figment of all of their imaginations.

Giles was staring at the Slayer in amazement and disbelief. "How on earth could you possibly have known…"

"The Slayer knew. She kept getting all confused," Buffy began to explain, speaking slowly as she figured it out as she went along. "She was basically in competition with me the whole time – wanting to claim Spike for her own, even though I was the one with the valid claim – and she kept saying that Dawn was trying to take him from her…that Dawn – wasn't – wasn't…"

"Real," Dawn finished for her in a whisper. "She said I wasn't real."

"She was wrong," Buffy told her firmly, turning for a moment to meet her eyes. "There was just – no way of understanding it, really – she just sensed that we were – the same, somehow."

"And that's why Dawnie could make the Slayer stop," Joyce realized, looking at her youngest with a sort of awe in her eyes. "Because Buffy, on her own, wasn't strong enough to beat the Slayer. But Buffy combined with Dawn…"

"Was like – super-concentrated Buffy," the Slayer shrugged slightly as she managed to find a way to put even this fantastic situation into her own terms. "Me times one and a half, to her one – right, Giles?"

"In a manner of speaking – yes," the Watcher nodded, still seeming a bit surprised that he was not required to explain all of this to them.

"So – even though these monks made the Key into Dawn – they made her – from me," Buffy concluded thoughtfully, before turning to fully face her sister as she added earnestly, "So you are a part of this family, Dawn – no matter what else you are – what more you are – you belong to us – to me -- we're closer than any sisters ever could be…"

Dawn would not quite meet her eyes, her own focused on the floor as she tried to process what was being said around her, about her.

"See, Dawnie?" Joyce said with a cheer that was a bit overboard, given the circumstances. "It's not so bad, after all?"

"Isn't it?" Dawn looked up at her dubiously, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I'm – I'm some kind of freak – you can say what you want, but I'm not human – not completely – and now this – this weird beast thing wants to find me and – and do what, exactly?" The last bit was directed at Giles, a desperate fear in her eyes.

"Well, that point is not exactly clear at the moment," the Watcher replied nervously, and though he could not quite meet her eyes, it was clear to those who knew him that he was telling the truth, and genuinely did not know the answer to her question.

"Worse things than being other than human, Bit," Spike pointed out quietly, reaching out a cool, gentle hand in a comforting touch.

But Dawn pulled quickly away. "You guys all talk like this is nothing!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she moved away from her little family toward the stairs, keeping her back to them. "Like it's no big deal that I'm suddenly not who or what I thought I was, and some big nasty thing that wants to end the world wants to use me to do it! How can you say there are worse things? This is like – the end of the world! No – it's like for me there never was a world!"

"Dawn, Honey – calm down," Joyce said gently, moving to go after her.

But Dawn jerked away from her, shaking her head and backing toward the stairs. "Don't touch me!" she cried through her tears. "Just leave me alone – I just need to – just leave me alone!"

And without another word, she fled up the stairs to her room, where the sound of the slamming door reverberated back down them into the silence that fell over the group.

After a moment, Buffy raised her solemn, downcast eyes to meet her mate's calm, serious gaze – and found herself infinitely reassured by the closeness she felt with him, both physically and emotionally, now that they were bound so deeply by the claim that joined them.

And for just an instant – the fear, the apprehension for her sister's safety, the confusion and uncertainty about what was to come in the coming months, seemed to melt away in the warmth of knowing that whatever it was that they would face – they would not be facing it alone.

With a shared sense of resignation and acceptance, mingled hope and fear, the eyes of the Slayer and her vampire mate met, as a single thought passed through both their minds at once, and they prepared themselves for this next great battle.

Well – here we go again!


	109. Chapter 109

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Willow asked anxiously as she headed toward the door. "I mean -- I could probably..."

"No." Buffy's voice was firm as she cut her friend off abruptly. "Willow, have you learned nothing from all this? No more magic in this house -- and especially not by you, and especially not on my sister!"

"I wasn't -- um -- I was just going to say, maybe I could -- talk to her?" Willow hastened to explain. "I kinda -- know what it feels like to feel like you -- don't belong in your own family." Willow's shaky, hesitant words were tinged with an unusually apologetic tone, as she met her best friend's eyes with a sad, almost pleading look in her own.

Buffy could not help but soften a bit, when faced with Willow's hurt at her hasty assumption.

"I'm sorry, Will -- I know you wanna help," she explained gently. "But I think what Dawn needs right now is her family -- and to be honest with you, all things considered, she'd probably bite your head off if you try to talk to her -- what with the whole..." 

Buffy paused, clearly searching for a tactful way of continuing, before shrugging with a little grimace as she finished weakly, "...wonky spell that nearly killed us all thing -- you know."

"She holds me responsible," Willow nodded with sad resignation, her eyes fastened on the floor. Then, quickly, she amended her words, looking anxiously up to meet Buffy's eyes. "I am responsible! I'm the one who messed with the spell, and -- and it almost got your whole family killed! I'm so sorry, Buffy!"

Buffy could barely contain her surprise at her friend's suddenly humble manner.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the wide-eyed, pleading expression on the face of the little redhead, trying very hard not to be suspicious of the girl who had been her best friend for so long now. She desperately wanted to believe that Willow was genuinely sorry for the trouble she had caused, was really ready and willing to accept responsibility for her part in the trauma that Buffy's family had just been through.

But unfortunately, it just seemed to be too sudden a change of heart for Buffy to accept.

"I'm glad you see that, Will," she said quietly, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "That will go a long way toward making things right between us again." She paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before she added with a firm resolve in her voice, "But it doesn't. Make it right. Not all on its own."

Willow's expression of hurt and confusion was almost enough to weaken Buffy's resolve – but she forced herself to maintain the strong stance she was taking, even as Willow protested in a trembling voice.

"But – Buffy – what else do you want me to do?" she asked pleadingly. "I mean – I can't undo it – or – or maybe I could -- no!" she hastily backtracked as Buffy's eyes widened in disbelief. "No, I can't undo it! I'm sorry, and I've told you I'm sorry, and I'll be more careful in the future, but what else can I do to make this right again?"

"If I may," Giles interjected quietly, slowly approaching where the two girls stood near the front door. "I do have a suggestion that might serve to help you learn how to control your magical abilities, Willow – and how to prevent their gaining any level of control over you, as well."

Willow eagerly grasped at the possibility for forgiveness that the Watcher was offering her, nodding eagerly as her eyes focused on Buffy again. "Yes! That sounds great, Giles! Tell me all about it, I'll do whatever it takes!" After a brief glance in his direction, she looked at Buffy again through wide, earnest eyes. "Whatever it takes, Buffy," she repeated in a soft, solemn voice. "I will – I promise!"

"Okay," Buffy nodded with a cautious smile. "I believe you, Willow. I love you – you're my best friend – but – I just want you to be careful. I can't have my family in danger because of your magic…"

"I understand, Buffy, I really do," Willow insisted. "Giles – tell me what you've got in mind…"

"Yes, dear, of course," Giles agreed, the exhaustion of the past few days showing in his voice, as he smiled wearily and added emphatically, "Tomorrow. I must say, I haven't quite recovered from the last few days. One full night of sleep after about three of very little seems hardly sufficient."

"So right," Buffy agreed, yawning, as she opened the door for her friends and her Watcher to exit, heading to their respective vehicles to go home. "I just got up, and I think I could use a nap."

"You mean you want to go to bed – that's not the same thing," Dawn muttered from the stairs, where she had just reappeared, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. Apparently, her curiosity and need to know if anything more about her origin was discussed, outweighing her anger for the moment.

Her suggestive mockery of her sister and her vampire mate was, thankfully, out of earshot of those who were not standing closest to her, the Scoobies who were already on their way out the door – but still clearly audible to Buffy, Spike…and unfortunately, her mother.

"Dawn Marie Summers!" Joyce gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

"Well – she could just want to – watch TV?" the girl shrugged, offering her mother a weak smile of unconvincing innocence.

Buffy laughed softly, but was still quite distracted as she watched the Scoobies – less one – making their way down the sidewalk. She was troubled by the aimless, uncertain way that Anya moved toward the sidewalk, her eyes downcast, her arms crossed protectively over her chest in a way that made her slight frame look even smaller.

Buffy felt a fresh wave of annoyance and anger at her stubborn friend when she realized that Xander had taken the car when he had run off on his little temper tantrum – leaving his girlfriend to walk back to her tiny apartment.

"What is it, love?" Spike asked softly, edging nearer to the window where Buffy was now looking out, though keeping as much to the shadow as possible.

"Anya," Buffy replied simply. "How is she gonna…"

"I'll drive her," Joyce immediately volunteered, realizing quickly what the issue was, and heading for the door. Just as her hand touched it, her daughter's voice stopped her.

"Wait…" Buffy began, her eyes widening as a slow smile crossed her lips.

"What?" Joyce was curious as she walked back to the window and looked out – to see the same scene that had brought the soft smile to her daughter's face.

Willow had already left. Anya stood on the sidewalk, talking quietly with Giles, who gave her an encouraging smile and gestured toward his own car. The ex-demon appeared uncertain at first – as if she was not quite sure what was appropriate for a human girl who had a boyfriend to do when offered a ride by a man who was not that boyfriend…

But then the Watcher said something, accompanied by a cheerful smile that made her laugh…

And the sudden blush that came into her cheeks, the strange light in her eyes, made it clear that at the moment, said boyfriend was becoming further and further from her mind for the moment.

Anya nodded with a strangely shy little smile, as she climbed into the car via the door that the Watcher had just opened for her, allowing him to close the door for her once she was safely inside.

"Ever the English gentleman," Spike smirked, his hands venturing into the light only for the split second it took to pull Buffy insistently back into the shadow with him, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck softly.

"Ever the English cad!" Joyce muttered with a little huff, turning away from the window and heading toward the kitchen.

Spike jerked slightly away from his mate for a moment, looking up in alarm toward her mother – but Buffy just laughed softly, pulling his arms back around her.

"Not you, silly," she murmured, turning in his embrace to kiss him softly. "Giles. She was talking about Giles…" Her words trailed off as she frowned slowly, considering. "But – what was she talking about, exactly?"

A slow smile rose to Spike's lips as he realized what had caused Joyce's sudden irritation. "Nothing, pet – your mum's just a bit afraid she might have a bit of competition – in the form of demon bint…"

Buffy's frown deepened with confusion. "Competition? For what? With Anya?" Suddenly, her eyes widened in an almost panicked expression as she realized what the vampire was getting at. "Are you saying Mom has a thing for Giles?" she squeaked – much more loudly than she had meant to, at least judging by the sudden crashing sound that came from the kitchen.

"Allow me." A small, sarcastic smile formed on Dawn's lips as she left the stairs and headed toward the kitchen to head her mother off before she could confront her daughter and the vampire.

Spike and Buffy exchanged a brief, wide-eyed look of mingled fear and amusement, before rushing out of the living room and up the stairs toward the haven of Buffy's bedroom – and some much-needed privacy.

They were still laughing, a bit giddily, as Buffy slammed the bedroom door behind them, just before Spike caught her around the waist and tossed her easily down on the bed on her back. The Slayer's light giggles of amusement slowly died away, her expression softening, as their eyes locked together, and a slightly more serious mood seemed to descend over them.

Seemed to.

"Mom," Buffy mused thoughtfully, not breaking eye contact with her mate. "And Giles…"

Spike smirked down at her with a little shrug. "And don't forget Anya…she might not like gettin' left out…"

"Ew!" Buffy groaned. "My mind did not even want to go to the nasty place you just sent it to!"

"Well – let's see if we can't distract it again," the vampire's low, husky voice rumbled in her ear as he leaned in closer, following up the words with a soft, cool kiss on her throat, trailing kisses slowly down to her collarbone.

"Mmmm," she murmured, closing her eyes and leaning her head back for a moment, shifting her body sideways across the bed and pulling her mate insistently down onto the bed on top of her, her fingers weaving through the loose blonde curls that he had not yet found the time to gel today – much to her complete approval. "Spike – love you…"

When she felt his body freeze momentarily, his lips ceasing their tender movements, her heart lurched within her with a sense of fear and uncertainty.

Was it too soon?

After all that had happened, did he even want to hear those words from her again? She knew that they were gradually working their way toward some sort of comfort – some easing of the trauma and pain that had characterized their relationship since – well, since ever…

But was he not ready to hear her intimate feelings for him just yet?

She forced herself not to avert her eyes as he slowly raised his head to meet them – and her breath was stolen away by the look of awe and affection in his shining blue eyes.

"Love you too, pet," he whispered. "So much…"

Relief swept over her, and she felt her body begin to tremble with it as she gently pulled his head down, urging him into another tender kiss. When she pulled away reluctantly, gasping for breath, her vampire mate lowered his head, resting it against the crook of her neck, his own breath coming rapid and uneven, although she knew he did not have to breathe.

Idly, Buffy toyed with the soft hair at the back of his neck, a slight frown of concern on her face as she waited for him to speak – for there was clearly something on his mind, judging by his reaction.

Without looking up at her, he finally spoke in a low, rough whisper, "You took up for me. To your mates. Your Watcher. Would have taken up for me to your Mum, too, had it been necessary – though it never was – wouldn't you?" There was a note of awed disbelief in his voice, as if he had not quite believed that she would, until he had seen her do it.

"Of course," Buffy replied softly without hesitation. "You're my mate now, Spike – and I'm yours. Nobody can change that – and I'm sure not gonna let them even try! I love you – I really do – even if I haven't done much to prove it lately – but I'm going to. I promise, Spike…"

"I just – seeing you – so strong and commanding and – and taking control of your own bleedin' life for a change, pet – not letting those soddin' children tell you how to run it, who to love…it – it proved something, pet…it proved – you've changed. Really changed," Spike explained softly, his arms gently embracing her, pulling her closer to him as if to soothe any accidental hurt his words might cause her.

But Buffy was not hurt by his assessment of the situation, or her former behavior. She knew that for too long she had allowed the people surrounding her to dictate to her what she should and should not do – although the actual power to act, as the Slayer, rested with her. 

And this time, allowing them that control over her had proven to be disastrous.

But it would never happen again.

"I'm just amazed they took it as well as they did," she said softly, gazing at the ceiling as her mind played over the last couple of hours again. "Giles – Anya – though she was never really a problem as far as we're concerned – even Willow – though – I still think she mostly just doesn't want me mad at her…but if Giles' idea actually helps her, then…"

Spike nodded, raising his head to look her in the eyes, adoration clear in his crystal blue gaze. His expression was slightly troubled as he reminded her quietly, "The Whelp, though – he didn't take it so well…"

Buffy shrugged, easily dismissing that objection, gently tightening her arm around the blonde vampire's waist above her, as she declared firmly, "He'll either get over it and decide he wants to be friends – with us -- or he won't. That's it. It's up to him. But the only thing that is not up for negotiation, is the fact that you are mine, and I am yours, and nobody is going to change that. Ever."

Spike studied her expression for a few moments longer, still more than a little surprised at how easily she was able to discount the opinions of her friends, and accept him, now that it was all over.

Well – mostly…

"What about Niblet?" he reminded her thoughtfully, a frown of concern coming over his face as he looked away from her, contemplating. "This – this nasty that's after her now – fresh apocalypse in the making…she's gonna need us more than ever now…"

Buffy nodded in agreement. "We'll make it through it," she said with a tired sigh. "We made it through this, didn't we?"

When he was silent, she met his eyes again, a deep insecurity and guilt still showing in her gaze, as she repeated softly, "Didn't we?"

Spike's expression softened as he raised a hand to gently caress her cheek, and reassured her, "Yes. We did, love. At least – we will," he amended quietly, opting at the last moment for complete honesty.

Buffy seemed to appreciate his choice. While his initial words had failed to wipe the worry from her face, his final ones seemed to ease her fears a bit.

"I'm so sorry, Spike," she whispered. "I really am. I love you so much – and I promise you I'm gonna make it right."

"Believe you, pet," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her tenderly again, before rising up to continue with a teasing little smirk, "Believed you the first few hundred times you said it, too…"

Buffy's lips formed a slight pout as she lightly slapped at his chest, turning her head away for a moment before searching his eyes again as she protested softly, "But it hasn't made me feel any better – hasn't made it feel -- right again – you know?"

Spike nodded slowly, his smile softening as he replied, "I know. Don't s'pose just sayin' it's gonna make it right again, no matter how many times you say it. It takes more than that, pet. It takes time." He leaned down to kiss her again, punctuating the remainder of his softly spoken words with brief, tender kisses along the column of her throat.

"And every day…that goes by…will bring us…that much closer…to 'all right'…and one day…we'll just wake up…and won't even think of it." He raised his head again to look her in the eye, his eyes shining with emotion as he finished in a soft whisper, "We won't even see it coming…won't know when it does…but one day, it will be all right again, love. It will."

Buffy could not help the tears that slid down her face at the sight of the love in the vampire's eyes, in spite of the pain she had put him through. "How can you even look at me?" she whispered softly, though there was more gratitude than shame in her eyes, her voice, as she drank him in like a gift that she felt she had no right to possess.

His smile widened slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulled her closer to him, shifting slightly over her to bring their bodies into closer contact.

"Easier than you might think, love," he growled in her ear, before giving it a playful tug with his teeth, and then lowering those teeth to gently worry his mark on her throat.

Buffy let out a soft gasp of surprised pleasure at the intensity of sensation that his touch sent through her, instinctively pulling her closer to him – but he caught her wrists, pulling them gently up over her head and restraining them there, rising up just long enough to catch her wide, startled gaze with a playful smirk on his face.

"Don't think so, love," he teasingly reproved her. "My terms – remember?"

His tone was playful – but the slight trace of uncertainty in his slightly wider than usual blue eyes told her that he was only halfway kidding. Obedient, willing to do whatever it took, as she had promised, until her mate felt safe and secure enough to trust her completely – the Slayer lay back on the bed, submitting to his gently restraining hands, not challenging the control he was taking of the situation.

And in a few moments – she was very glad she had done so.

Spike's expert hands, his soft, cool mouth, moved over her skin with a touch that was just strong enough, just gentle enough, anticipating her needs, her desires, almost before she felt them herself, through their bond. Before long, the Slayer was lost to the sensations he was awakening anew within her, without even removing a single stitch of clothing from her body.

As his hand gently caressed her body through her clothes, his mouth gently worked at his mark on her throat, drawing her ever closer to the brink of ecstasy with each carefully timed, measured touch. Instinctively, her hand found her matching mark on his throat, tenderly caressing in a firm circular motion that drew a rough moan of pleasure from his throat, as he drew back away from her for a moment, gasping for breath.

"Spike – love you," she whispered breathlessly. "Love you so much…"

"Love you, Buffy," he replied in kind, his own voice trembling with a combination of powerful emotion, and powerful pleasure aroused by her touch.

The simple, profound, mutual declaration was all they needed to achieve the pinnacle of pleasure to which they were headed – and the Slayer and her mate surrendered to the overwhelming flood of ecstasy that washed over them, beginning at the marks that symbolized their intimate connection, and flooding through both of their bodies in a rush, finally leaving them both breathless and weak as the sensations gently ebbed away.

They lay there in silence for a long time, just holding each other, neither willing to break the intense connection that still joined them, making them intensely aware of the thoughts, emotions, feelings coursing through each other's minds and hearts – binding them together in a way that went far beyond the physical union of sex that Spike had earlier that morning not been quite willing to resume just yet.

I think I can deal, Buffy thought flatly, still stunned by the intensity of pleasure and union that had been possible for them, focused on their marks, rather than more – er -- conventional areas.

Her mate's low, throaty chuckle against her skin took her by surprise, even as it aroused a fresh wave of desire, a warmth radiating from his mark a few inches above where his cool lips touched her throat, and she realized with mild embarrassment, but greater concern for his feelings, that he had heard her thoughts.

"It – it doesn't bother me," she quickly assured him. "I mean it. I said I'd wait, Spike – however long it takes – and I meant it. I don't want you to think – I mean…"

"Buffy."

The Slayer fell silent with a sigh of resignation, and simply waited for him to speak again.

"I know you mean it – and it means the world to me, love," he explained softly. "But – don't think it's as far off as you're thinking, pet."

She raised her averted eyes to meet his, surprised.

"There's certain advantages to this claim we've got," he continued with a smile. "Such as – neither one of us has got to worry bout the other's – motivations – feelings – we can see 'em, right there on display." His smile widened as he gently ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek to trace her parted lips. "And in our case – that's a very good thing. Tends to help along the trust factor, yeah?"

Buffy nodded slowly, feeling a sense of relief come over her as she realized that he was right – the fact that Spike could feel the sincerity of her love for him, didn't have to wonder about it…

….which would make proving it that much easier.

"Then – maybe we haven't got such a long way to go, then? Have we?" she said softly, her emotions making her voice tremble slightly as she instinctively pulled him closer to her.

"No, pet," he reassured her gently. "Not so long at all. In fact, we're almost there…" He leaned down to brush her lips with yet another tender kiss, pulling back to look her in the eyes as he whispered softly, "…almost home."

FIN

A/N: I know I left a few loose ends, but I'm pretty much planning on writing a sequel to this fic…don't have any details on it, except it'll basically be season five, with Spike and Buffy mated, and dealing with the shaky beginnings of their relationship and their mutual control issues (can you tell I'm into psychology much:P lol)…but I do have about 3 ideas boiling around in my head at the moment, so it'll probably be a while before the sequel takes shape….thanx for all your reviews during this tremendously long story…lol…hope you've all enjoyed it!!!


End file.
